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BATTLE   POEMS 


BATTLE  POEMS 


Patriotic    Verses 

A    WAR 
ANTHOLOGY 


By 
GEORGE    GOODCHILD 


NEW    YORK 

Hfiarsl'.H   /nfprnufio/Kil  Lihrurii  ('v 
191. J 


The  poems  by  Longfellow,  Whittier 
and  Harte  are  used  by  permission 
of  Houghton,  Mifflin  Company, 
authorized  publishers  of  their  works. 

The  poems  by  Whitman  are  used 
by  permission  of  David  McKay, 
authorized    publisher   of    his   works. 


V^'Z'^ 


INDEX    OF    FIRST    LINES 

Page 
A  line  in  long-  array  where  they  wind  betwixt  green  islands  .     73 

Arm'd  year— year  of  the  struggle 60 

As  I  lay  with  my  bead  in  my  lap,  camerado 6a 

At  anchor  in  Hampton  Roads  we  lay 211 

At  length  the  freshening  western  blast 105 

Attend,  all  ye  who  list  to  hear  our  noble  England's  praise     .         .  136 
Avenge,  O  Lord,  thy  slaughter'd  saints,  whose  bones    .         .         .117 

Beat  !  beat !  drums  !— blow  !  bugles  !  blow  ! 74 

By  the  bivouac's  fitful  flame 7° 

Came  the  relief.     What,  sentry,  ho  ! 41 

Christ  or  Nietzsche  ?     Cross  or  Sword  ? 19 

Come,  all  ye  jolly  sailors  bold 221 

Come,  cheer  up,  my  lads,  'tis  to  glory  we  steer        .         .         .         .197 

Down  the  picket  guarded  lane 4^ 

England,  with  all  thy  faults  I  love  thee  still 193 

Ev'n  as  I  thought  of  you,  your  soul  had  sped  .....     15 

Fair  stood  the  wind  for  France 146 

First  O  songs  for  a  prelude 55 

God  be  praised  that  I  stand  at  last 21 

God  save  our  gracious  King 224 

Gods  of  Berserker  and  Viking,  Thor  and  Odin,  rise  again     .         .     31 
Great-hearted  Belgium  !  England  weeps  for  you     .         .         .         .16 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league 80 

Hark  !  1  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands 44 

Have  you  heard  the  story  that  gossips  tell? 50 

Here's  a  health  unto  His  Majesty 201 

How  solemn  as  one  by  one 63 

Humanity,  delighting  to  behold  • 94 

I  read  last  night  of  the  grand  review 37 

I  see  before  me  now  a  travelling  army  halting        .         .         .         .72 

Italy,  fair  Italy,  what  may  thy  pleasure  be  ? 25 

It  was  a  summer  evening 98 

"  I  was  with  Grant  " — the  stranger  said 48 

Lars  Porsena  of  Clusium   , 159 

Long  the  proud  Spaniards  had  vaunted  to  conquer  us   .         .         .123 
vii 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


Pag-e 

Men  of  England  I  who  inherit 202 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note  .         .         .         .101 

Not  ours,  where  battle  smoke  upcurls 42 

Now  glory  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  from  whom  all  glories  are  1        .  127 

Of  Nelson  and  the  North 86 

Oh  !  the  pause  of  silent  dread 142 

Oh  where  and  oh  where,  is  your  Highland  laddie  gone  ?  .  .  216 
Oh  I  wherefore  came  ye  forth,  in  triumph  from  the  North  .  .118 
Once  more  into  the  breach,  dear  friends,  once  more        .         .         .  144 

On  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low 103 

Our  bugles  sang  truce — for  the  night-cloud  had  lowered         .         .  208 

Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhii        .         .         , 206 

Pipes  of  the  misty  moorlands 76 

Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled »S4 

Some  talk  of  Alexander,  and  some  of  Hercules        ....  214 

Some  years  of  late,  in  eighty-eight i33 

Son  of  the  ocean  isle 218 

Stop  !  for  thy  tread  is  on  an  Empire's  dust 90 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  a  wolf  on  the  fold      ....  184 

The  days  come  up  as  beggars  in  the  street 29 

The  power  of  Armies  is  a  visible  thing 210 

The  stately  homes  of  England '99 

This  day  is  called  the  feast  of  Crispian 152 

To  North  and  South  and  East  and  West 27 

Vigil  strange  I  kept  on  the  field  one  night 67 

We've  shut  the  gates  by  Dover  Straits 17 

What  have  I  done  for  you  ? '9' 

What  of  the  faith  and  fire  within  us 13 

When  Britain  first  at  Heaven's  command iQS 

Whene'er  a  noble  deed  is  wrought 83 

When  the  British  warrior  Queen 'S^ 

While  my  wife  at  my  side  lies  slumbering  and  the  wars  are  over 

long 64 

With  eyes  averted  Hector  hastes  to  turn 186 

With  its  cloud  of  skirmishers  in  advance 7' 

Ye  mariners  of  England 2°4 

viii 


INDEX    OF   AUTHORS 

Pages 

Bliss,  H.  W IS,  i6 

Bourdillon,  F.  W 3' 

Burns,  Robert  (1759-1796) '54 

Byron,  Lord  (1788-1824) 90,  183 

Campbell,  Thomas  (1777-1844)        .        .        .        .86,  103,  202,  204,  209 

Carey,  Henry  (d.  1743) 224 

Chartes,  A.  Vivanti 25 

Cowper,  William  (1731-1800) 156,  '93 

Drayton,  Michael  (1563-1631) 146 

Fagan,  James  Bernard 18 

Garrick,  David  (1717-1779) '97 

Grogan,  Walter  E 27 

Hardy,  Thomas 14 

Harte,  Francis  Bret  (1839-1902)      .         .         •       37>  4'.  42.  44'  46,  48,  S° 

Henley,  W.  E.  (1849-1903) iQi 

Hemans,  Felicia  Dorothea  (1793-1835)  ....        199,  218 

Herbert,  George  (1593-1633) 133 

Hoare,  Prince  (1755-1834) 221 

Holmes,  Edmond 20,  21 

Homer,  (circa  eleventh  century  B.C.) 186 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wads  worth  (1807- 1882)  .         .         .        .  83,211 

Macaulay,  Lord  (1800-1859) 118,  127,  136,  159 

Milton,  John  (1608-1674) "7 

Ruskin,  John  (1819-1900)  142 

Scott,  Sir  Walter  (1771-1832) 105,206 

Shakespeare,  William  (1564-1616) 144,  152 

Southey,  Robert  (i  774-1843) 98 

Tennyson,  Lord  (1809-1892) 80 

Thomson,  James  (1700-1748) 19S 

Tree,  Iris 29 

Whitman,  Walt  (1819-1892)     .        .     55,  60,  62,  64.  67,  70,  71,  72,  73,  74 

Whittier,  John  Greenleaf  (1807-1892) 76 

Wolfe,  Charles  (17Q1-1823) loi 

Wordsworth,  William  (1770-1850) 94-210 


POEMS  INSPIRED 
BY  THE 
PRESENT  WAR, 
1914 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


SONG  OF  THE  SOLDIERS 

What  of  the  faith  and  fire  within  us 

Men  who  march  away 

Ere  the  barn-cocks  say 

Night  is  growing  gray 
To  hazards  whence  no  tears  can  win  us  ; 
What  of  the  faith  and  fire  within  us 

Men  who  march  away? 

Is  it  a  purblind  prank,  O  think  you, 
Friend  with  the  musing  eye 
Who  watch  us  stepping  by. 
With  doubt  and  dolorous  sigh  ? 

Can  much  pondering  so  hoodwink  you  ! 

Is  it  a  purblind  prank,  O  think  you, 
Friend  with  the  musing  eye? 

Nay.     We  see  well  what  we  are  doing. 
Though  some  may  not  see — 
Dalliers  as  they  be ! 
England's  need  are  we  ; 

^3 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Her  distress  would  set  us  rueing  : 
Nay.     We  see  well  what  we  are  doing, 
Though  some  may  not  see  ! 

In  our  heart  of  hearts  believing 

Victory  crowns  the  just, 

And  that  braggarts  must 

Surely  bite  the  dust, 
March  we  to  the  field  ungrieving, 
In  our  heart  of  hearts  believing 

Victory  crowns  the  just. 

Hence  the  faith  and  fire  wathin  us 

Men  who  march  away 

Ere  the  barn-cock  say 

Night  is  growing  gray 
To  hazards  whence  no  tears  can  win  us  ! 
Hence  the  faith  and  fire  within  us 

Men  who  march  away. 

Thomas  Hardy. 


14 


BATTLE     POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


"ANY   FRIEND  TO   ANY   FRIEND" 

Ev'n  as  I  thought  of  you  your  soul  had  sped, 
Friend  of  old,  happy,  far  off,  boyhood  days, 
And,  as  across  the  sea  I  turned  my  gaze. 
The  soil  of  France  with  your  brave  blood  was  red  ! 
Blame  not  the  shears  that  slit  the  thin  yarn  thread. 
Though  life  be  lost,  immortal  is  the  praise  ! 
Would  I  were  with  you  crowned  with  victory's  bays, 
O  Happy  Warrior  'midst  our  English  dead  ! 

Yea  !   God  of  Battles,  what  a  time  to  die ! 
Thy  Courts  are  echoing  to  the  tuck  of  drum. 
The  wide  days  flame  with  comet  souls  that  fly 
Triumphant,  at  a  bound,  from  Earth  to  Heaven, 
The  nights  ablaze,  with  their  white  passage  riven, 
As,  trailing  clouds  of  glory,  swift  they  come. 

//.   IV.  Bliss.    , 


15 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


TO  BELGIUM 

Great-hearted  Belgium  !   England  weeps  for  you  ; 

But,  like  a  mother,  smiling  through  her  tears. 

Glad  that  her  son,  in  his  first  manhood's  years. 
Has  borne  himself  as  she  would  wish  him  do. 
So,  long  ago,  the  Tyrol  patriot  drew 

(Scorning,  as  you  have  scorned,  all  craven  fears) 

Into  one  loyal  heart  six  Austrian  spears. 
And  by  that  splendid  gap  let  Freedom  through  ! 
Shall  England,  mother  of  the  free,  forget? 

Oh  !    let  her  rather  sink  beneath  her  seas  ! 
Take  you  this  promise,  Belgium— him  who  set 

This  cup  to  your  brave  lips  her  hands  shall  seize, 
And  he  shall  pay,  in  blood  and  tears,  the  debt 

And  drain  a  bitterer  chalice  to  the  lees ! 

H.  W.  Bliss. 


i6 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


THE  HOUR 

We've  shut  the  gates  by  Dover  Straits, 

And  North  where  the  tides  run  free, 
Cheek  by  jowl,  our  watchdogs  prowl, 

Grey  hulks  in  a  greyer  sea. 
And  the  prayer  that  England  prays  to-night — 

O  Lord  of  our  destiny  ! — 
As  the  foam  of  our  plunging  prows  is  white  ; 
We  have  stood  for  peace,  and  we  war  for  right. 

God  give  us  victory  ! 

Now  slack,  now  strung,  from  the  mainmast  flung, 

The  flag  throbs  fast  in  the  breeze  ; 
Strained  o'er  the  foam,  like  the  hearts  at  home 

That  beat  for  their  sons  on  the  seas. 
For  mothers  and  wives  are  praying  to-night — 

O  Lord  of  our  destiny  ! — 
But  we've  no  time,  for  our  lips  are  tight. 
Our  fists  are  clenched,  and  we're  stripped  to  fight. 

God  give  us  victory  ! 

17  B 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

The  west  winds  blow  in  the  face  of  the  foe — 

Old  Drake  is  beating  his  drum — 
They  drank   to  "  The   Day,"   for  "  The   Hour "   we 
pray. 

The  day  and  the  hour  have  come. 
The  sea-strewn  Empire  prays  to-night — 

O  Lord  of  our  destiny  ! — 
Thou  didst  give  the  seas  into  Britain's  might, 
For  the  freedom  of  Thy  seas  we  smite.  • 

God  give  us  victory  ! 

James  Bernard  Fagan. 


I8 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


CHRIST  OR  NIETZSCHE? 

Christ  or  Nietzsche  ?     Cross  or  sword  ? 
Love  of  kind  or  lust  of  power  ? 
Choose,  O  Man.     God  strikes  the  hour. 
Choose  thy  symbol.    Choose  thy  Lord. 

Christ  or  Nietzsche  ?     Love  or  hate  ? 
Life  in  death,  or  death  in  life? 
War  for  peace,  or  war  for  strife  ? 
Choose  thy  future.    Choose  thy  fate. 

Christ  or  Nietzsche  ?     Right  or  might  ? 
Truth  of  heaven,  or  lies  from  Hell? 
Healing  balm,  or  bursting  shell  ? 
Freedom's  day,  or  serfdom's  night? 

Christ  or  Nietzsche?    Gain  or  loss? 
Who  can  lose  when  loss  is  gain  ? 
Who  can  shrink  from  toil  or  pain 
When  Christ  triumphs  on  the  Cross? 
^9 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

Christ  or  Nietzsche  ?    Just  is  war  : 
True  the  scales  with  which  it  weighs. 
In  the  fullness  of  the  days 
Right  than  might  is  mightier  far. 

Christ  or  Nietzsche  ?    Look  above. 
Though  the  war-clouds  throng  and  drift, 
Clear  through  every  widening  rift 
Glows  the  stainless  heaven  of  love. 

Christ  or  Nietzsche  ?    Love  or  hate  ? 
Self-surrender,  or  self-will  ? 
Choose,  and  through  the  years  fulfil, 
O  mankind,  thy  chosen  fate. 

Edmond  Holmes. 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


STANDING  STILL 

God  be  praised  that  I  stand  at  last 
Facing  the  enemy,  rifle  in  hand : 
Hist !  how  the  bullets  whistle  past — 
And  still  we  wait  the  word  of  command, 
Though  our  fellows  are  dropping  fast. 

When  will  it   be  my  turn,  I  wonder  ; 
Where  and  how  am  I  doomed  to  die? 
Will  a  sword-blade  cleave  my  skull  asunder. 
Or  the  lightning  flash  from  a  battery 
Strike  me  dead  ere  1  hear  its  thunder? 

Will  one  of  those  whistling  bullets  bring 
The  message  of  doom,  or,  worse  than  all. 
Will  a  crashing  shell  leap  in  and  fling 
Fragments  of  death,  or  shall  I  fall 
Where  bayonets  clash  and  ring  ? 

Or  is  it  a  boon  too  precious  by  far — 
Too  blest  a  fate — to  die  as  I  stand — 

21 


BATTLE     POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

Death  'mid  the  press  and  clamour  of  war — 
Death  red  and  hot  for  the  motherland — 
For  the  land  where  the  dear  ones  are  ? 

Mother  of  nations  !  Mother  of  men  ! 
I  drank  in  life  at  thy  Titan  breast  : 
Thine  arms  of  love  were  round  me  then  ; 
And  if  ever  I  muse  how  my  birth  was  blest 
I  am  clasped  to  thy  heart  again. 

Mistress  of  empires  !     Queen  of  the  sea  ! 
The  pulse  of  a  strong  exultant  hope 
Beats  in  thy  breast  till  it  beats  in  me  : 
Thou  hast  given  my  life  an  unbounded  scope  ; 
I  am  proud  in  the  pride  of  thee. 

I  reap  the  fruit  of  the  toil  and  tears, 
Of  the  deeds  of  the  heroes  that  made  thee  great, 
Of  the  travail  throes  of  a  thousand  years — 
Of  the  patient  courage  that  conquered  fate — 
Of  doubts  and  despairing  fears. 

Each  drop  of  blood  that  thy  children  shed- 
Each  spasm  of  pain  that  broke  their  breath — 
For  me  they  suffered — for  me  they  bled  : — 

0  Mother's  love,  I  am  dumb  till  death  ; 

1  could  speak  were  I  cold  and  dead. 

22 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Thou  knowest  how  often  I  strove  to  break 
The  fetters  of  speech  for  a  moment's  space  : — 
How  love  grew  a  thirst  that  I  yearned  to  slake — 
How  I  prayed  that  Heaven  would  grant  me  grace 
To  strike  one  blow  for  thy  sake. 

One  blow  for  England — however  light — 
One  drop  in  the  stream  of  her  ample  life — 
One  breaking  bubble — one  foam-bell  white 
In  one  of  those  whirlpools  of  eddying  strife 
That  mark  her  resistless  might. 

And  here  I  stand — and  the  fates  fulfil 
My  heart's  one  wish — my  devoutest  prayer  : 
I  am  standing  obedient  to  England's  will  : — 
Not  mine  to  ask  how  my  comrades  fare  : — 
She  has  bidden  me  stand  here  still. 

I  murmur  not  :  I  am  more  than  blest : 

She  has  found  me  a  foot  of  earth  to  defend  : 

She  has  marked  me  the  way  I  may  serve  her  best : 

She  judges  the  issue  :  she  knows  the  end  : — 

Mine  to  work — be  the  meaning  unguessed. 

So  little  a  work — but  I  thank  God  most 
For  this — that  the  issue  itself  is  large — 
That  all  may  serve  it,  and  none  may  boast  : 
23 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

The  pulse  beats  high  in  a  cavalry  charge — 
Is  it  nothing  to  hold  one's  post 

When  shells  are  screaming  to  left  and  right  ? 
When  grape  is  falling  in  scathing  showers? 
I  stand  here  still,  with  as  stern  delight 
As  ever  in  fierce  exultant  hours 
Bade  hearts  beat  fast  for  the  fight. 

Mother  of  nations  !   and  if  I  fell 
I  dare  to  dream  that  thy  love  would  spare 
A  sigh — and  it  may  be  a  tear : — ah  !  well, 
I  hear  the  voice  that  accepts  my  prayer 
In  the  scream  of  the  passing  shell. 

Edmond  Holmes. 


34 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


THE  HEART  OF  ITALY 

"  Italy,  fair  Italy,  what  may  thy  pleasure  be  ? 
Come,    rest  thee  on   thy   sunlit  shores,  thy   hands 

around  thy  knee. 
Recline    upon    thy    laurel-wreaths    in    far    niente 

sweet, 
And  watch  the  golden  sunset  on  thy  waving  fields 

of  wheat. 

"  Italy,  fair  Italy,  what  is  this  war  to  thee  ? 

Lay  down  thy  shield,  and  fan  thy  cheek  with 
palms  from  Tripoli. 

Cast  down  thy  shining  helmet,  plant  thy  banner  in 
the  grass 

And  smile  into  thy  twofold  sea  as  in  a  looking- 
glass." 

The  Prussian  eagle's  wings  are  black,  the  Prussian 

beak  is  red, 
The   Prussian    talons   tear   and   rend   the  wounded 

and  the  dead. 

25 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Ah,  life  is  short,  and  peace  is  safe,  and  far  niente 

sweet ! 
But  Italy,  fair  Italy,  is  rising  to  her  feet. 


Not   all  her  sons  have  fallen   'neath    the    crescent 

and  the  star ; 
The    sound    of    Garibaldi's    Hymn    conies    ringing 
from  afar. 
.  .  And  Italy,  the  beautiful,  in  sacramental  awe 
Reveals    within   her  milk-white  breast  the  blood- 
red  heart  of  war. 

A.   Vivanti  Chartes. 


26 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


THE  HOME  FLAG 

To  North  and  South  and  East  and  West, 
Wherever  the  Briton  homes, 
On  lonely  road  or  sheltered  quest, 
Whatever  the  trail  he  roams. 
To-day  a  call  rings  loud  and  clear, 
That  hearing  no  man  can  lag, 
It  stirs  our  hearts  both  far  and  near. 
The  call  of  the  old  Home  Flag  ! 


Red— for  the  blood  that  was  shed  for  it 
Ere  ever  we  saw  the  light ; 
White— for  the  men  that  are  dead  for  it, 
Giving  their  all  for  its  might  ; 
Blue— as  the  seas  that  roll  under  it. 
Far  as  the  ends  of  the  world — 
Flag  of  our  race,  with  its  Cross  of  God's  Grace. 
We  hail  it,  our  Hope  unfurled  ! 
27 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Wide-strewn  the  Empire  that  we  hold, 
And  never  our  work  is  done, 
The  chain  that  Hnks  us  purest  gold — 
The  love  of  a  son  for  son. 
And  none  may  hear  it  and  say  it  nay. 
We  are  one  in  silk  or  rag  ; 
O,  sons  of  the  Motherland,  obey 
The  call  of  the  old  Home  Flag  ! 

Red — for  the  blood  that  was  shed  for  it 
Ere  ever  we  saw  the  light  ; 
White — for  the  men  that  are  dead  for  it, 
Giving  their  all  for  its  might  ; 
Blue— as  the  seas  that  roll  under  it, 
Far  as  the  ends  of  the  world- 
Flag  of  our  race,  with  its  Cross  of  God's  Grace, 
We  hail  it,  our  Hope  unfurled  ! 

Walter  E.  Grogan. 


28 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


IN  TIME  OF  WAR 

The  days  come  up  as  beggars  in  the  street 
With  empty  hands,  as  summers  without  sun 
That  bring  no  gold  of  corn.    With  weary  feet 
We  tread  our  ways  not  caring  where  they  run. 

The  poet's  song  all  golden  in  his  throat 
Turns  to  a  blood-red  chapter,  rage  unfurled  ; 
The  hunter's  horn  has  made  its  little  note 
A  trumpet-blast  that  shall  awake  the  world. 

From  silent  shores  where  languid  tides  have  swept, 
From  quiet  hills  where  dreaming  people  reign. 
Strange  eyes  drop  water  that  have  never  wept. 
Men  rush  to  slaughter  that  have  never  slain  : 

For  look  !   the  gorgeous  armies  marching  onwards. 
And  look  !  the  draggled  line,  the  feet  that  lag. 
The  burning   banner,  and    returning  homewards 
The  pallid  faces  and  the  bleeding  flag  ! 
29 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


From   house   to    house    the   mournful    winds    have 

blown 
The  dying  war-cry  in  the  watchers'  ears, 
From  heath  to  hill  have  borne  the  weepers'  moan, 
Have    drowned    the    drum,   have   frozen    up    their 

tears. 

They  see  the  dusty  roads  of  separation. 
They  see  the  lonely  seas  and  stranger  lands: 
Their  children  give  good  bodies  for  the  nation 
And  yield  their  swords  to   death  with  loyal  hands. 

Beggar  and  prince  in  meeting  face  to  face 
Hold  the  same  secret  shining  in  their  eyes— 
The  awful  terror  of  a  fierce  disgrace, 
The  awful  hope  that  glory  may  arise. 

The  hope  that  like  a  flame  from  the  black  field 

Flings  up  its  prophecy  on  fervent  wings  ; 

Pride    in    the    strength   of    God    whose    sword    we 

wield, 
And  charity  the  only  crown  of  kings. 

Iris  Tree. 


30 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


FALSE  GODS 

Gods  of  Berserker  and  Viking,  Thor  and  Odin,  rise 

again  ; 
Loki  laughs  to  see  the  Red  Cock  crowing  from  the 

cross-crowned  fane. 
Steely-crested  waves  of  battle,  breaking  into  crimson 

foam, 
Drench  with  blood  the  smiling  cornland,  drown  in 

tears  the  happy  home. 


Where  is  resting-place  or  refuge  from  the  fear  that 

compasseth, 
When  the  heavens  drop  destruction,  and   the  seas 

are  sown  with  death  ? 
For  the  sons  of  Light  are  fallen,  fall'n  thro'  pride,  as 

angels  fell. 
And  the  Morning-star  becometh  Lucifer,  the  Prince 

of  Hell. 

31 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

To  the  false  gods  of   thy  fathers  bend  in   vain  thy 

recreant  knee  ! 
They  who  smote  Napoleon's  legions  will  not  flinch 

for  thine  or  thee. 
Now  of  forty  years  of  iron   Europe  sees  thro'  tears 

the  end.  ' 

As  a  foe  we  fear  no  longer  though  we  feared  thee 

as  a  friend. 


Often  have  we  half-belJeved  thee,  fain  to  grasp  the 

grisly  hand 
Glove-enwrapped,  that  hid  Death's  fingers — trust  the 

mask-face  smiling  bland. 
Fallen  is  that  mask  for  ever — full  revealed  the  felon 

head, 
And    the    proud-winged    Prussian    eagle    prov'n    a 

vulture,  carrion-fed. 

As  the  Day  of  Armageddon  deadly  shall  the  conflict 

be. 
Flesh  is  clothing — breath   is  quickening  —  the    dry 

bones  of  chivalry. 
Arthur  rides  again  to  battle  ;  there  is  Galahad  the 

pure  ; 
Loyal  Lancelot,  gallant  Gawain,  fight  with  us.    The 

End  is  sure.  / 

32 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

Sure     the     victor>'.     Else     how    vain-imagined    are 

millennial  years — 
Love  victorious — Truth  triumphant — stayed  the  flow 

of  helpless  tears  ! 
Sure   the    End   is.     Else   Eternal    Love  must    come 

again  to  die  ; 
Peter   shall   forswear,   and   Judas   kiss,   and   Pilate 

crucify. 

F.  W.  Bourdillon. 


33 


HISTORICAL 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


A  SECOND  REVIEW  OF  THE  GRAND  ARMY 

I  READ  last  night  of  the  grand  review 

In  Washington's  chiefest  avenue, — 

Two  hundred  thousand  men  in  blue, 

1  think  they  said  was  the  number, — 

Till  I  seemed  to  hear  their  trampling  feet, 

The  bugle  blast  and  the  drum's  quick  beat, 

The  clatter  of  hoofs  in  the  stony  street, 

The  cheers  of  people  who  came  to  greet. 

And  the  thousand  details  that  to  repeat 

Would  only  my  verse  encumber, — 
Till  I  fell  in  a  reverie,  sad  and  sweet. 

And  then  to  a  fitful  slumber. 

When,  lo  !  in  a  vision  I  seemed  to  stand 
In  the  lonely  Capitol.     On  each  hand 
Far  stretched  the  portico,  dim  and  grand 
Its  columns  ranged  like  a  martial  band 
Of  sheeted  spectres,  whom  some  command 
Had  called  to  a  last  reviewing. 
37 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

And  the  streets  of  the  city  were  white  and  bare; 
No  footfall  echoed  across  the  square  ; 
But  out  of  the  misty  midnight  air 
I  heard  in  the  distance  a  trumpet  blare, 
And  the  wandering  night-winds  seemed  to  bear 
The  sound  of  a  far  tattooing. 

Then  I  held  my  breath  with  fear  and  dread ; 
For  into  the  square,  with  a  brazen  tread, 
There  rode  a  figure  whose  stately  head 

O'erlooked  the  review  that  morning. 
That  never  bowed  from  its  firm-set  seat 
When  the  living  column  passed  its  feet. 
Yet  now  rode  steadily  up  the  street 

To  the  phantom  bugle's  warning. 

Till  it  reached  the  Capitol  square,  and  wheeled, 
And  there  in  the  moonlight  stood  revealed 
A  well-known  form  that  in  State  and  field 

Had  led  our  patriot  sires  : 
Whose  face  was  turned  to  the  sleeping  camp, 
Afar  through  the  river's  fog  and  damp, 
That  showed  no  flicker,  nor  waning  lamp, 

Nor  wasted  bivouac  fires. 

And  I  saw  a  phantom  army  come, 
With  never  a  sound  of  fife  or  drum, 
38 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


But  keeping  time  to  a  throbbing  hum 

Of  waiHng  and  lamentation  : 
The  martyred  heroes  of  Malvern  Hill, 
Of  Gettysburg  and  Chancellorsville, 
The  men  whose  wasted  figures  fill 
The  patriot  graves  of  the  nation. 


And  there  came  the  nameless  dead,— the  men 
Who  perished  in  fever  swamp  and  fen, 
The  slowly-starved  of  the  prison  pen  ; 

And,  marching  beside  the  others. 
Came  the  dusky  martyrs  of  Pillow's  fight. 
With  limbs  enfranchised  and  bearing  bright  ; 
I  thought— perhaps  'twas  the  pale  moonlight— 

They  looked  as  white  as  their  brothers  ! 


And  so  all  night  marched  the  nation's  dead, 
With  never  a  banner  above  them  spread, 
Nor  a  badge,  nor  a  motto  brandished  ; 
No  mark— save  the  bare  uncovered  head 

Of  the  silent  bronze  Reviewer  ; 
With  never  an  arch  save  the  vaulted  sky  ; 
With  never  a  flower  save  those  that  lie 
On  the  distant  graves— for  love  could  buy 

No  gift  that  was  purer  or  truer. 
39 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

So  all  night  long  swept  the  strange  array, 
So  all  night  long  till  the  morning  gray 
I  watched  for  one  who  had  passed  away, 

With  a  reverent  awe  and  wonder, — 
Till  a  blue  cap  waved  in  the  lengthening  line, 
And  I  knew  that  one  who  was  kin  of  mine 
Had  come  ;  and  I  spake — and  lo !  that  sign 

Awakened  me  from  my  slumber. 

Bret  Harte. 


40 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


RELIEVING  GUARD 

T.  S.  K.    Obit  March  4,  1864 

Came  the  relief.    "  What,  sentry,  ho  ! 

How  passed  the  night  through  thy  long   waking? 

"  Cold,  cheerless,  dark, — as  may  befit 

The  hour  before  the  dawn  is  breaking." 

"  No  sight  ?  no  sound  ?  "     "  No  ;  nothing  save 
The  plover  from  the  marshes  calling. 
And  in  yon  western  sky,  about 
An  hour  ago,  a  star  was  falling." 

"A  star?    There's  nothing  strange  in  that." 
"  No,  nothing  ;  but,  above  the  thicket. 
Somehow  it  seemed  to  me  that  God 
Somewhere  had  just  relieved  a  picket." 

Bret  Harte. 


41 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


OUR  PRIVILEGE 

Not  ours,  where  battle  smoke  upcurls, 

And  battle  dews  He  wet, 
To  meet  the  charge  that  treason  hurls 

By  sword  and  bayonet. 

Not  ours  to  guide  the  fatal  scythe 
The  fleshless  Reaper  wields  ; 

The  harvest  moon  looks  calmly  down 
Upon  our  peaceful  fields. 

The  long  grass  dimples  on  the  hill. 

The  pines  sing  by  the  sea. 
And  Plenty,  from  her  golden  horn. 

Is  pouring  far  and  free. 

O  brothers  by  the  farther  sea  ! 

Think  still  our  faith  is  warm  ; 
The  same  bright  flag  above  us  waves 

That  swathed  our  baby  form. 
42 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


The  same  red  blood  that  dyes  your  fields 

Here  throbs  in  patriot  pride — 
The  blood  that  flowed  when  Lander  fell, 

And  Baker  s  crimson  tide. 

And  thus  apart  our  hearts  keep  time 

With  every  pulse  ye  feel. 
And  Mercy's  ringing  gold  shall  chime 

With  Valour's  clashing  steel. 

Bret  Harte. 


43 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


THE  REVEILLE 

Hark  !  I  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands, 

And  of  armed  men  the  hum  ; 
Lo  !  a  nation's  hosts  have  gathered 
Round  the  quick  alarming  drum, — 
Saying,  "  Come, 
Freemen,  come  ! 
Ere     your     heritage     be    wasted,"    said    the    quick 
alarming  drum. 

"  Let  me  of  my  heart  take  counsel  : 

War  is  not  of  life  the  sum  ; 
Who  shall  stay  and  reap  the  harvest 
When  the  autumn  days  shall  come?" 
But  the  drum 
Echoed,  "  Come  ! 
Death    shall    reap    the    braver    harvest,"    said    the 
solemn-sounding  drum. 
44 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

"  But  when  won  the  coming  battle, 
What  of  profit  springs  therefrom  ? 
What  if  conquest,  subjugation, 
Even  greater  ills  become  ?  " 
But  the  drum 
Answered,  "  Come  ! 
You  must  do  the  sum  to  prove  it,"  said  the  Yankee- 
answering  drum. 

"What  if,  'mid  the  cannons'  thunder. 
Whistling  shot  and  bursting  bomb, 
When  my  brothers  fall  around  me. 

Should  my  heart  grow  cold  and  numb?" 
But  the  drum 
Answered,  "  Come  ! 
Better  there  in  death  united,  than  in  life  a  recreant, — 
Come !" 

Thus  they  answered,— hoping,  fearing, 

Some  in  faith,  and  doubting  some. 
Till  a  trumpet-voice  proclaiming, 
Said,  "  My  chosen  people,  come  ! " 
Then  the  drum, 
Lo  !  was  dumb, 
For  the  great  heart  of  the  nation,  throbbing,  an- 
swered, "  Lord,  we  come  ! " 

Bret  Harte. 

45 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


"HOW  ARE  YOU,  SANITARY?" 

Down  the  picket-guarded  lane 

Rolled  the  comfort-laden  wain, 

Cheered  by  shouts  that  shook  the  plain. 
Soldier-like  and  merry  : 

Phrases  such  as  camps  may  teach, 

Sabre-cuts  of  Saxon  speech. 

Such  as  "  Bully  ! "   "  Them's  the  peach  I " 
"  Wade  in.  Sanitary  ! " 

Right  and  left  the  caissons  drew 
As  the  car  went  lumbering  through, 
Quick  succeeding  in  review 

Squadrons  military  ; 
Sunburnt  men  with  beards  like  frieze, 
Smooth-faced  boys,  and  cries  like  these,- 
"  U.  S.  San.  Com."  "  That's  the  cheese  ! " 

"  Pass  in.  Sanitary  !  " 

In  such  cheer  it  struggled  on 
Till  the  battle  front  was  won. 
Then  the  car,  its  journey  done, 
Lo  !  was  stationary  ; 
46 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

And  where  bullets  whistling  fly, 
Came  the  sadder,  fainter  cry, 
"  Help  us,  brothers,  ere  we  die, — 
Save  us,  Sanitary  ! " 

Such  the  work.  The  phantom  flies. 
Wrapped  in  battle  clouds  that  rise  ; 
But  the  brave— whose  dying  eyes. 

Veiled  and  visionary, 
See  the  jasper  gate  swung  wide, 
See  the  parted  throng  outside — 
Hears  the  voice  to  those  who  ride  : 

"  Pass  in.  Sanitary  !  " 

Bret  Harte. 


47 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


THE  AGED  STRANGER 

"  I  WAS  with  Grant — "  the  stranger  said  ; 

Said  the  farmer,  "Say  no  more, 
But  rest  thee  here  at  my  cottage  porch, 

For  thy  feet  are  weary  and  sore." 

"  I  was  with  Grant — "  the  stranger  said  ; 

Said  the  farmer,  "Nay,  no  more, — 
I  prithee  sit  at  my  frugal  board, 

And  eat  of  my  humble  store. 

"  How  fares  my  boy, — my  soldier  boy, 
Of  the  old  Ninth  Army  Corps? 

I  warrant  he  bore  him  gallantly 
In  the  smoke  and  the  battle's  roar  ! " 

"  I  know  him  not,"  said  the  aged  man, 

"  And,  as  I  remarked  before, 
I  was  with  Grant — "    "  Nay,  nay,  I  know,'' 

Said  the  farmer,  "  say  no  more  : 

48 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


"  He  fell  in  battle,— I  see,  alas  ! 

Thou'dst  smooth  these  tidings  o'er, — 
Nay,  speak  the  truth,  whatever  it  be. 

Though  it  rend  my  bosom's  core. 

"  How  fell  he  ? — with  his  face  to  the  foe. 

Upholding  the  flag  he  bore  ? 
Oh,  say  not  that  my  boy  disgraced 

The  uniform  that  he  wore  ! " 

"I  cannot  tell,"  said  the  aged  man, 
"  And  should  have  remarked  before. 

That  I  was  with  Grant, — in  Illinois, — 
Some  three  years  before  the  war." 

Then  the  farmer  spake  him  never  a  word. 

But  beat  with  his  fist  full  sore 
That  aged  man,  who  had  worked  for  Grant 

Some  three  years  before  the  war. 

Bret  Harte. 


49 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


JOHN  BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG 

Have  you  heard  the  story  that  gossips  tell 

Of  Burns  of  Gettysburg  ?— No  ?  Ah,  well : 

Brief  is  the  glory  that  hero  earns, 

Briefer  the  story  of  poor  John  Burns  : 

He  was  the  fellow  who  won  renown, — 

The  only  man  who  didn't  back  down 

When  the  rebels  rode  through  his  native  town 

But  held  his  own  in  the  fight  next  day, 

When  all  his  townsfolk  ran  away. 

That  was  in  July  sixty-three, 

The  very  day  that  General  Lee, 

Flower  of  Southern  chivalry. 

Baffled  and  beaten,  backward  reeled 

From  a  stubborn  Meade  and  a  barren  field. 


I  might  tell  how  but  the  day  before 
John  Burns  stood  at  his  cottage  door, 
Looking  down  the  village  street, 
Where,  in  the  shade  of  his  peaceful  vine, 
50 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

He  heard  the  low  of  his  gathered  kine, 
And  felt  their  breath  with  incense  sweet  ; 
Or  I  might  say,  when  the  sunset  burned 
The  old  farm  gable,  he  thought  it  turned 
The  milk  that  fell  like  a  babbling  flood 
Into  the  milk-pail  red  as  blood  ! 
Or  how  he  fancied  the  hum  of  bees 
Were  bullets  buzzing  among  the  trees. 
But  all  such  fanciful  thoughts  as  these 
Were  strange  to  a  practical  man  like  Burns, 
Who  minded  only  his  own  concerns, 
Troubled  no  more  by  fancies  fine 
Than  one  of  his  calm-eyed,  long-tailed  kine, — 
Quite  old-fashioned  and  matter-of-fact, 
Slow  to  argue,  but  quick  to  act. 
That  was  the  reason,  as  some  folk  say, 
He  fought  so  well  on  that  terrible  day. 


And  it  was  terrible.     On  the  right 
Raged  for  hours  the  heady  fight, 
Thundered  the  battery's  double  bass, — 
Difficult  music  for  men  to  face  ; 
While  on  the  left — where  now  the  graves 
Undulate  like  the  living  waves 
That  all  that  day  unceasing  swept 
Up  to  the  pits  the  rebels  kept — 
51 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Round  shot  ploughed  the  upland  glades, 

Sown  with  bullets,  reaped  with  blades ; 

Shattered  fences  here  and  there 

Tossed  their  splinters  in  the  air  ; 

The  very  trees  were  stripped  and  bare  ; 

The  barns  that  once  held  yellow  grain 

Were  heaped  with  harvests  of  the  slain  ; 

The  cattle  bellowed  on  the  plain. 

The  turkeys  screamed  with  might  and  main, 

And  brooding  barn-fowl  left  their  rest 

With  strange  shells  bursting  in  each  nest. 

Just  where  the  tide  of  battle  turns, 
Erect  and  lonely  stood  old  John  Burns. 
How  do  you  think  the  man  was  dressed  ? 
He  wore  an  ancient  long  buff  vest, 
Yellow  as  saffron, — but  his  best  ; 
And,  buttoned  over  his  manly  breast, 
Was  a  bright  blue  coat,  with  a  rolling  collar. 
And  large  gilt  buttons, — size  of  a  dollar, — 
With  tails  that  the  country-folk  called  "swaller." 
He  wore  a  broad-brimmed,  bell-crowned  hat, 
White  as  the  locks  on  which  it  sat. 
Never  had  such  a  sight  been  seen 
For  forty  years  on  the  village  green. 
Since  old  John  Burns  was  a  country  beau, 
And  went  to  the  "  quiltings "  long  ago. 
52 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

Close  at  his  elbows  all  that  day, 

Veterans  of  the  Peninsula, 

Sunburnt  and  bearded,  charged  away  ; 

And  striplings,  downy  of  lip  and  chin, — 

Clerks  that  the  Home  Guard  mustered  in, — 

Glanced,  as  they  passed,  at  the  hat  he  wore, 

Then  at  the  rifle  his  right  hand  bore  : 

And  hailed  him,  from  out  their  youthful  lore, 

With  scraps  of  a  slangy  repertoire  : 

"  How  are  you.  White  Hat ! "  "  Put  her  through  ! " 

"  Your  head's  level ! "  and  "  Bully  for  you  ! " 

Called  him  "  Daddy," — begged  he'd  disclose 

The  name  of  the  tailor  who  made  his  clothes. 

And  what  was  the  value  he  set  on  those  ; 

While  Burns,  unmindful  of  jeer  and  scoff. 

Stood  there  picking  the  rebels  off, — 

With  his  long  brown  rifle  and  bell-crown  hat, 

And  the  swallow-tails  they  were  laughing  at. 

'Twas  but  a  moment,  for  that  respect 
Which  clothes  all  courage  their  voices  checked  ; 
And  something  the  wildest  could  understand 
Spake  in  the  old  man's  strong  right  hand, 
And  his  corded  throat,  and  the  lurking  frown 
Of  his  eyebrows  under  his  old  bell-crown  ; 
Until,  as  they  gazed,  there   crept  an  awe 
Through  the  ranks  in  whispers,  and  some  men  saw, 
53 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

In  the  antique  vestments  and  long  white  hair, 
The  Past  of  the  Nation  in  battle  there  ; 
And  some  of  the  soldiers  since  declare 
That  the  gleam  of  his  old  white  hat  afar, 
Like  the  crested  plume  of  the  brave  Navarre, 
That  day  was  their  oriflamme  of  war. 

So  raged  the  battle.    You  know  the  rest : 

How  the  rebels,  beaten  and  backward  pressed. 

Broke  at  the  final  charge  and  ran. 

At  which  John  Burns — a  practical  man — 

Shouldered  his  rifle,  unbent  his  brows. 

And  then  went  back  to  his  bees  and  cows. 

That  is  the  story  of  old  John  Burns  ; 
This  is  the  moral  the  reader  learns  : 
In  fighting  the  battle,  the  question's  whether 
You'll  show  a  hat  that's  white,  or  a  feather  ! 

Bret  Harte. 


54 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


DRUM-TAPS 

FIRST  O  SONGS  FOR  A  PRELUDE 

First  O  songs  for  a  prelude. 

Lightly    strike    on    the    stretch'd    tympanum    pride 

and  joy  in  my  city, 
How  she  led  the  rest  to  arms,  how  she  gave  the 

cue. 
How  at  once  with  lithe  limb  unwaiting  a  moment 

she  sprang, 
(O  superb  !    O  Manhattan,  my  own,  my  peerless  ! 
O  strongest  you   in   the   hour   of   danger,  in   crisis  ! 

O  truer  than  steel  !) 
How  you  sprang — how  you  threw  off  the  costumes 

of  peace  with  indifferent  hand. 
How  your  soft  opera-music  changed,  and  the  drum 

and  fife  were  heard  in  their  stead. 
How  you  led  to  the  war  (that   shall    serve   for  our 

prelude,  song  of  soldiers), 
How  Manhattan  drum-taps  led. 
55 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Forty  years   had    I    in   my  city  seen  soldiers  parad- 
ing, 
Forty  years  as  a  pageant,  till  unawares  the  lady  of 

this  teeming  and  turbulent  city, 
Sleepless  amid  her  ships,  her  houses,  her  incalcul- 
able wealth, 
With  her  million  children  around  her,  suddenly 
At  dead  of  night,  at  news  from  the  south, 
Incens'd  struck  with  clinch'd  hand  the  pavement. 

A  shock  electric,  the  night  sustain'd  it, 

Till    with    ominous    hum    our    hive     at    daybreak 

pour'd  out  its  myriads 
From    the    houses    then    and    the  workshops,  and 

through  all  the  doorways 
Leapt  the  tumultous,  and  lo  !  Manhattan  arming. 

To  the  drum-taps  prompt, 

The  young  men  falling  in  and  arming, 

The  mechanics  arming  (the  trowel,  the   jack-plane, 

the    blacksmith's    hammer,    tost    aside     with 

precipitation). 
The    lawyer    leaving    his    office    and    arming,    the 

judge  leaving  the  court, 
The    driver    deserting    his    wagon    in    the    street, 

jumping    down,    throwing    the     reins    abruptly 

down  on  the  horses'  backs, 
56 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

The    salesman     leaving     the     store,    the     boss,    the 

book-keeper,  porter,  all  leaving  ; 
Squads    gather    everywhere    by    common    consent 

and  arm. 
The   new   recruits,   even   boys,   the   old    men    show 

them   how   to   wear   their    accoutrements,   they 

buckle  the  straps  carefully. 
Outdoors  arming,  indoors  arming,  the  flash  of  the 

musket-barrels. 
The     white    tents    cluster    in     camps,    the     arm'd 

sentries  around,  the  sunrise  cannon  and  again 

at  sunset 
Arm'd    regiments    arrive    every    day,  pass    through 

the  city,  and  embark  from  the  wharves, 
(How  good  they  look  as  they  tramp   down   to    the 

river,  sweaty  with  their  guns  on  their  shoulders  ! 
How    I   love   them  !   how   I   could   hug   them,  with 

their     brown     faces     and     their     clothes     and 

knapsacks  covered  with  dust  !) 
The  blood  of  the  city  up — arm'd  !  arm'd  !  the  cry 

everywhere,     the     flags     flung     out     from      the 

steeples  of   churches    and   from    all    the    public 

buildings  and  stores. 
The  tearful  parting,  the  mother  kisses  her  son,  the 

son  kisses  his  mother, 
(Loath  is  the  mother  to   part,  yet  not  a  word  does 

she  speak  to  detain  him) 
57 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

The    tumultuous    escort,    the    ranks    of    policemen 

preceding  clearing  the  way, 
The    unpent    enthusiasm,   the    wild    cheers   of   the 

crowd  for  their  favourites, 
The    artillery,  the    silent    cannons   bright    as    gold, 

drawn  along,  rumble  lightly  over  the  stones, 
(Silent  cannons,  soon  to  cease  your  silence, 
Soon  unlimber'd  to  begin  the  red  business)  ; 
All  the  mutter   of   reparation,  all    the    determin'd 

arming, 
The    hospital     service,    the     lint,     bandages     and 

medicines. 
The    women     volunteering    for    nurses,    the    work 

begun  for  in  earnest,  no  mere  parade  now  ; 
War  !    an   arm'd  race    is   advancing  !   the  welcome 

for  battle,  no  turning  away  ; 
War !   be    it   weeks,  months,    or    years,    an    arm'd 

race  is  advancing  to  welcome  it. 
Manahatta  a-march — and  it's  O  to  sing  it  well  ! 
It's  O  for  a  manly  life  in  the  camp. 

And  the  sturdy  artillery. 

The  guns   bright   as  gold,   the   work   for  giants,   to 

serve  well  the  guns, 
Unlimber  them  !  (no  more  as  the  past  forty  years 

for  salutes,  for  courtesies  merely, 
Put  in  something  now  besides  powder  and  wadding.) 
58 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

And  you  lady  of  ships,  you  Manahatta, 

Old  matron  of   this  proud,  friendly,  turbulent   city, 

Often   in   peace   and   wealth    you   were   pensive   or 

covertly  frown'd  amid  all  your  children, 
But     now     you     smile     with     joy,      exulting    old 

Manahatta. 

Walt  Whitman. 


59 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


EIGHTEEN    SIXTY-ONE 

Arm'd  year — year  of  the  struggle, 

No   dainty   rhymes   or   sentimental   love   verses  for 

you,  terrible  year, 
Not   you    as  some   pale   poetling   seated    at  a  desk 

lisping  cadenzas   piano, 
But  as  a  strong  man  erect,  clothed  in  blue  clothes, 

advancing,  carrying  a  rifle  on  your  shoulder, 
With    well-gristled    body   and    sunburnt    face    and 

hands,  with  a  knife  in  the  belt  at  your  side. 
As  I  heard  you  shouting  loud,  your  sonorous  voice 

ringing  across  the  continent, 
Your  masculine  voice,  O  year,  as  rising  amid  the 

great  cities. 
Amid  the  men  of  Manhattan  I  saw  you  as  one  of 

the  workmen  and  dwellers  in  Manhattan, 
Or    with   large   steps    crossing   the   prairies    out   of 

Illinois  and  Indiana, 
Rapidly  crossing   the   West   with   springy   gait   and 

descending  the  Alleghanies, 
60 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

Or  down  from  the  Great  Lakes  or  in  Pennsylvania 

or  on  deck  along  the  Ohio  river, 
Or  southward  along  the  Tennessee  or  Cumberland 

rivers,  or  at  Chattanooga  on  the  mountain-top, 
Saw    I    your    gait    and     saw  I    your  sinewy  limbs 

clothed  in  blue,   bearing  weapons,  robust  year. 
Heard  your  determin'd  voice  launched  forth  again 

and  again. 
Year    that    suddenly    sang    by  the   mouths    of   the 

round-lipp'd  cannon, 
I  repeat  you,  hurrying,  crashing,  sad,  distracted  year, 

Walt  Whitman. 


6i 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


AS  I  LAY  WITH  MY  HEAD  IN  YOUR 
LAP,  CAMERADO 

As  I  lay  with  my  head  in  your  lap,  camerado, 

The  confession  I  made  I  resume,  what  I  said  to  you 

and  the  open  air  I  resume, 
I  know  I  am  restless  and  make  others  so, 
I  know  my  words  are  weapons  full  of  danger,  full 

of  death, 
For  I   confront  peace,   security,  and   all   the  settled 

laws,  to  unsettle  them, 
I  am  more  resolute  because  all  have  denied  me  than 

I  could  ever  have  been  had  all  accepted  me, 
I  heed  not  and  have  never  heeded  either  experience 

cautions,  majorities,  nor  ridicule. 
And  the  threat  of  what  is  call'd   hell   is  little  or 

nothing  to  me. 
And  the  lure  of  what  is  call'd  heaven  is  little  or 

nothing  to  me, 
Dear  camerado  !     I  confess  I  have  urged  you  onward 

with  me  and  still  urge  you,  without  the  least  idea 

of  what  is  our  destination, 

Or  whether  we  shall  be  victorious,  or  utterly  quell'd 

and  defeated. 

Walt  Whitman. 

62 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


HOW  SOLEMN  AS  ONE   BY  ONE 

How  solemn  as  one  by  one, 

As  the  ranks  returning  worn  and  sweaty,  as  the  men 

file  by  where  I  stand. 
As  the  faces  the  masks  appear,  as  I  glance  at  the 

faces  studying  the  masks, 
(As  I  glance  upward  out  of  this  page  studying  you, 

dear  friend  (whoever  you  are) 
How  solemn  the  thought  of  my  whispering  soul   to 

each  in  the  ranks,  and  to  you, 
I  see  behind  each  mask  that  wonder  a  kindred  soul, 
O  the  bullet  could  never  kill  what  you  really  are, 

dear  friend. 
Nor  the  bayonet  stab  what  you  really  are  ; 
The  soul  !  yourself  I  see,  great  as  any,  good  as  the 

best. 
Waiting  secure  and  content,  which  the  bullet  could 

never  kill. 
Nor  the  bayonet  stab,  O  friend. 

Walt  Whitman. 


63 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


THE   ARTILLERYMAN'S  VISION 

While  my  wife  at  my  side  lies  slumbering  and  the 

wars  are  over  long, 
And  my  head  on  the  pillow  rests  at  home,  and  the 

vacant  mid-night  passes, 
And  through  the  stillness,  through  the  dark,  I  hear, 

just  hear,  the  breath  of  my  infant. 
There  in  the  room  as  I  wake  from  sleep  this  vision 

presses  upon  me  : 
The  engagement  opens  there  and   then  in  fantasy 

unreal. 
The  skirmishers  begin,  they  crawl  cautiously  ahead, 

I  hear  the  irregular  snap  !  snap  ! 
I  hear  the  sound  of  the  different  missiles,  the  short 

t-h-t  !  t-h-t  !  of  the  rifle  balls, 
I  see  the  shells  exploding  leaving  small  white  clouds, 

I  hear  the  great  shells  shrieking  as  they  pass. 
The  grape  like  the  hum  and  whirr  of  wind  through 

the  trees  (tumultuous  now  the  contest  rages), 
All  the  scenes  at  the  batteries  rise  in  detail  before 

me  again, 

64 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

The  crashing  and  smoking,  the  pride  of  the  men  in 

their  pieces, 
The  chief-gunner  ranges  and   sights  his  piece  and 

selects  a  fuse  of  the  right  time. 
After  firing  I  see   him  lean  aside  and  look  eagerly 

of?  to  note  the  effect  ; 
Elsewhere   I   hear   the   cry   of   a  regiment  charging 

(the  young  colonel  leads  himself  this  time  with 

brandish'd  sword) 
I  see  the  gaps  cut  by  the  enemy's  volley  (quickly  fill'd 

up,  no  delay) 
I  breathe  the  suffocating  smoke,  then  the  flat  clouds 

hover  low  concealing  all  ; 
Now  a  strange  lull  for  a  few  seconds,  not  a  shot  fired 

on  either  side, 
Then  resumed  the  chaos  louder  than  ever  with  eager 

calls  and  orders  of  officers. 
While  from  some  distant   part  of  the  field  the  wind 

wafts  to   my  ears  a   shout  of  applause    (some 

special  success) 
And  ever    the    sound   of    the  cannon   far  or    near 

(rousing  even  in    dreams  a   devilish   exultation 

and  all  the  old  mad  joy  in  the  depths  of  my 

soul). 
And     ever     the     hastening     of     infantry     shifting 

positions,  batteries,  cavalry,  moving  hither  and 

thither. 

65  E 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

The  falling,  dying,  I  heed  not,  the  wounded  dripping 
and  red  I  heed  not,  some  to  the  rear  are  hob- 
bling) 

Grime,  heat,  rush,  aide-de-camps  galloping  by  or  on 
a  full  run 

With  the  patter  of  small  arms,  the  warning  s-s-t  of 
the  rifles  (these  in  my  vision  I  hear  or  see) 

And  bombs  bursting  in  air,  and  at  night  the  vari'- 
colour  d  rockets. 

Walt  Whitman. 


66 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


VIGIL  STRANGE   1    KEPT   ON  THE   FIELD 
ONE   NIGHT 

Vigil  strange  I  kept  on  the  field  one  night ; 
When  you,  my  son  and  my  comrade,  dropt  at  my 

side  that  day. 
One  look  I  but  gave  which  your  dear  eyes  returned 

with  a  look  I  shall  never  forget. 
One  touch  of   your  hand    to    mine,  O  boy,  reach'd 

up  as  you  lay  on  the  ground. 
Then    onward    I    sped     in     the    battle,    the    even- 
contested  battle. 
Till  late  in  the   night   reliev'd  to  the   place   at   last 

again  I  made  my  way. 
Found   you  in  death  so  cold,  dear   comrade,  found 

your    body,    son    of    responding    kisses    (never 

again  on  earth  responding) 
Bared  your  face  in  the  starlight,  curious  the  scene, 

cool  blew  the  moderate  night-wind. 
Long    there    and    then     in     vigil     I     stood,    dimly 

around  me  the  battlefield  spreading, 
67 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Vigil  wondrous  and  vigil  sweet  there  in  the  fragrant 

silent  night, 
But  not  a   tear   fell,  not   even   a    long-drawn    sigh, 

long,  long  I  gazed, 
Then  on  the   earth    partially  reclining  sat    by   your 

side  leaning  my  chin  in  my  hands. 
Passing  sweet  hours,  immortal  and  mystic  hours  with 

you,  dearest  comrade — not  a  tear,  not  a  word. 
Vigil    of   silence,  love  and    death,  vigil  for  you,  my 

son  and  my  soldier. 
As   onward   silently  stars  aloft,  eastward  new  ones 

upward  stole. 
Vigil  final  for  you,  brave  boy  (I  could  not  save  you, 

swift  was  your  death, 
I  faithfully  loved   you   and    cared    for   you  living,  I 

think  we  shall  surely  meet  again) 
Till   at   latest  lingering  of  the  night,  indeed  just  as 

the  dawn  appear'd. 
My  comrade  I  wrapt  in  his  blanket,  envelop'd  well 

his  form. 
Folded    the   blanket  well,  tucking   it  carefully  over 

head  and  carefully  under  feet. 
And  there  and   then  and  bathes  by  the  rising  sun, 

my  son    in   his  grave,  in    his   rude-dug   grave  I 

deposited, 
Ending   my   vigil    strange  with    that,  vigil   of   night 

and  battlefield  dim, 

68 


BATTLE     POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

Vigil  for  boy  of  responding   kisses  (never   again  on 

earth  responding) 
Vigil  for  comrade  swiftly  slain,  vigil  I  never  forget, 

how  as  day  brighten'd, 
I  rose  from  the  chill  ground  and  folded  my  soldier 

well  in  his  blanket. 
And  buried  him  where  he  fell. 

Walt  Whitman. 


6q 


BATTLE     POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


BY  THE   BIVOUAC'S  FITFUL  FLAME 

By  the  bivouac's  fitful  flame, 

A    procession    winding    around    me,    solemn,    and 

sweet,  and  slow — ^but  first  I  note, 
The   tents   of    the    sleeping  army,    the    fields'    and 

woods'  dim  outline. 
The    darkness    lit     by    spots    of    kindled    fire,    the 

silence 
Like  a  phantom   far   or   near  an   occasional  figure 

moving. 
The  shrubs  and  trees  (as  I  lift  my  eyes  they  seem 

to  be  stealthily  watching  me) 
While  wind  in  procession    thoughts,  O   tender  and 

wondrous  thoughts 
Of  life  and  death,  of  home  and  the  past  ?nd  loved, 

and  of  those  that  are  far  away  ; 
A  solemn  and  slow  procession  there  as  I  sit  on  the 

ground, 
By  the  bivouac's  fitful  flame. 

Walt  Whitman. 


70 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


AN   ARMY  CORPS   ON   THE   MARCH 

With  its  cloud  of  skirmishers  in  advance, 

With  now  the  sound  of  a  single  shot  snapping  like 

a  whip,  and  now  an  irregular  volley. 
The    swarming    ranks    press   on    and  on,  the  dense 

brigades  press  on. 
Glittering    dimly,  toiling   under   the   sun — the   dust- 

cover'd  men, 
In  columns  rise  and  fall  to    the    undulations  of  the 

ground. 
With  artillery  interspers'd — the  wheels    rumble,  the 

horses  sweat, 
As  the  army  corps  advances. 

Wa/t  Whitman. 


71 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


BIVOUAC  ON  A  MOUNTAIN  SIDE. 

I  SEE  before  me  now  a  travelling  army  halting. 
Below    a    fertile    valley    spread,    with     barns    and 

orchards  of  summer, 
Behind  the  terraced  sides  of  a   mountain,  abrupt, 

in  places  rising  high, 
Broken,  with  rocks,  with  clinging  cedars,  vnth   tall 

shapes  dingily  seen. 
The   numerous  camp-fires   scatter'd   near   and    far, 

some  away  up  on  the  mountain. 
The    shadowy  forms   of   men  and    horses,  looming, 

large-sized,  flickering. 
And  over  all  the  sky — the  sky  !  far,  far  out  of  reach, 

studded,  breaking  out,  the  eternal  stars. 

JVa/t  Whitman. 


72 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


CAVALRY  CROSSING  A  FORD 

A  LINE  in  long  array  where  they  wind  betwixt  green 

islands, 
They  take  a  serpentine  course,  their  arms   flash  in 

the  sun — hark  to  the  musical  clank, 
Behold  the  silvery  river,  in  it  the  splashing   horses 

loitering  stop  to  drink, 
Behold    the    brown-faced    men,   each    group,   each 

person    a    picture,    the    negligent    rest    on    the 

saddles, 
Some  emerge  on  the  opposite  bank,  others  are  just 

entering  the  ford — while. 
Scarlet  and  blue  and  snowy  white. 
The  guidon  flags  flutter  gaily  in  the  wind. 

Walt  Whitman. 


73 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


BEAT!  BEAT!  DRUMS! 

Beat  !  beat  !  drums ! — blow  !  bugles  !  blow  ! 

Through  the  windows — through  doors,  burst  like  a 
ruthless  force, 

Into  the  solemn  church,  and  scatter  the  congre- 
gation, 

Into  the  school  where  the  scholar  is  studying  ; 

Leave  not  the  bridegroom  quiet — no  happiness  must 
he  have  now  with  his  bride, 

Nor  the  peaceful  farmer  any  peace,  ploughing  his 
field  or  gathering  his  grain, 

So  fierce  you  whirr  and  pound  your  drums — so 
shrill  you  bugles  blow. 

Beat  !  beat !  drums  ! — ^blow  !  bugles  !  blow  ! 

Over  the  traflfic  of  cities — over  the  rumble  of  wheels 

in  the  streets  ; 
Are  beds    prepared    for    sleepers    at    night    in  the 

houses?  no  sleepers  must  sleep  in  those  beds, 
No    bargainers'    bargains    by    day — no    brokers    or 

sp)eculators  would  they  continue? 
74 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


Would  the   talkers   be  talking?   would   the   singer 

attempt  to  sing? 
Would   the  lawyer   rise   in   the  court   to   state   his 

case  before  the  judge  ? 
Then    rattle    quicker,    heavier    drums— you    bugles 

wilder  blow. 

Beat  !  beat !  drums  !— blow  !  bugles  !  blow  ! 
Make  no  parley—stop  for  no  expostulation, 
Mind    not    the    timid— mind    not    the    weeper    or 

prayer, 
Mind  not  the  old  man  beseeching  the    young  man. 
Let  not  the  child's  voice  be  heard,  nor  the  mother's 

entreaties, 
Make   even   the   trestles   to   shake  the    dead  where 

they  lie  awaiting  the  hearses, 
So  strong   you   thump,  O    terrible  drums— so    loud 

you  bugles  blow. 

IValt  Whitman. 


75 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


THE   PIPES  AT  LUCKNOW 

Pipes  of  the  misty  moorlands, 

Voice  of  the  glens  and  hills. 
The  droning  of  the  torrents, 

The  treble  of  the  rills  ! 
Not  the  braes  of  broom  and  heather. 

Nor  the  mountains  dark  with  rain. 
Nor  maiden  bower,  nor  border  tower. 

Have  heard  your  sweetest  strain  ! 

Dear  to  the  Lowland  reaper 

And  plaided  mountaineer, — 
To  the  cottage  and  the  castle 

The  Scottish  pipes  are  dear, — 
Sweet  sounds  the  ancient  pibroch 

O'er  mountain,  loch,  and  glade  ; 
But  the  sweetest  of  all  music 

The  Pipes  at  Lucknow  played. 

Day  by  day  the  Indian  tiger 
Louder  yelled,  and  nearer  crept  ; 

Round  and  round  the  jungle-serpent 
Near  and  nearer  circles  swept. 
76 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

"  Pray  for  rescue,  wives  and  mothers,^ 
Pray  to-day,"  the  soldier  said  ; 

"  To-morrow,  death's  between  us 

And  the  wrong  and  shame  we  dread." 

O,  they  Hstened,  looked,  and  waited, 

Till  their  hope  became  despair ; 
And  the  sobs  of  low  bewailing 

Filled  the  pauses  of  their  prayer. 
Then  up  spake  a  Scottish  maiden, 

With  her  ear  unto  the  ground  : 
"  Dinna  ye  hear  it  ? — dinna  ye  hear  it  ? 

The  Pipes  of  Havelock  sound  ! " 

Hushed  the  wounded  man  his  groaning  ; 

Hushed  the  wife  her  little  ones  ; 
Alone  they  heard  the  drum-roll 

And  the  roar  of  Sepoy  guns. 
But  to  sounds  of  home  and  childhood 

The  Highland  ear  was  true  ; — 
As  her  mother's  cradle-crooning 

The  mountain  pipes  she  knew. 

Like  the  march  of  soundless  music 
Through  the  vision  of  the  seer 

More  of  feeling  than  of  hearing. 
Of  the  heart  than  of  the  ear, 

77 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

She  knew  the  droning  pibroch 

She  knew  the  Cainphell's  call  : 
"  Hark  !   hear  ye  no'  MacGregor's, — 

The  grandest  o'  them  all  !" 

O,  they  listened,  dumb  and  breathless. 

And  they  caught  the  sound  at  last  ; 
Faint  and  far  beyond  the  Goomtee 

Rose  and  fell  the  piper's  blast ! 
Then  a  burst  of  wild  thanksgiving 

Mingled  woman's  voice  and  man's  : 
"God  be  praised! — the  march  of  Havelock  ! 

The  piping  of  the  clans ! " 

Louder,  nearer,  fierce  as  vengeance. 

Sharp  and  shrill  as  swords  at  strife, 
Came  the  wild  MacGregor's  clan-call 

Stinging  all  the  air  to  life. 
But  when  the  far-ofT  dust-cloud 

To  plaided  legions  grew. 
Full  tenderly  and  blithesomely 

The  pipes  of  rescue  blew  ! 

Round  the  silver  domes  of  Lucknow, 
Moslem  mosque  and  Pagan  shrine, 

Breathed  the  air  to  Britons  dearest, 
The  air  of  Auld  Lang  Syne. 
78 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

O'er  the  cruel  roll  of  war-drums 

Rose  that  sweet  and  homelike  strain  ; 

And  the  tartan  clove  the  turban, 
As  the  Goomtee  cleaves  the  plain. 

Dear  to  the  corn-land  reaper 

And  plaided  mountaineer, — 
To  the  cottage  and  the  castle 

The  piper's  song  is  dear. 
Sweet  sounds  the  Gaelic  pibroch 

O'er  mountain,  glen,  and  glade 
But  the  sweetest  of  all  music 

The  Pipes  at  Lucknow  played. 

J.  G.  Whittier. 


79 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


THE  CHARGE  OF  THE  LIGHT  BRIGADE 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league, 

Half  a  league  onward. 
All  in  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"  Forward,  the  Light  Brigade  ! 
Charge  for  the  guns  ! "  he  said  : 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

"  Forward,  the  Light  Brigade  ! " 
Was  there  a  man  dismay'd? 
Not  tho'  the  soldier  knew 

Some  one  had  blunder'd  : 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why. 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die  : 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
80 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  in  front  of  them, 

Volley'd  and  thunder'd  ; 
Storm'd  at  \\'ith  shot  and  shell 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well. 
Into  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Into  the  mouth  of  Hell, 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Flash'd  all  their  sabres  bare, 
Flash'd  as  they  turned  in  air. 
Sabring  the  gunners  there. 
Charging  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wonder'd  : 
Plunged  in  the  battery-smoke 
Right  thro'  the  line  they  broke  ; 
Cossack  and  Russian 
Reel'd  from  the  sabre-stroke 

Shattered  and  sunder'd. 
Then  they  rode  back,  but  not 

Not  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them. 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  behind  them, 
Volley'd  and  thunder'd  : 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Storm'd  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
While  horse  and  hero  fell, 
They  that  had  fought  so  well 
Came  thro'  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  Hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them, 
Left  of  six  hundred. 

When  can  their  glory  fade? 
O  the  wild  charge  they  made  ! 

All  the  world  wonder'd. 
Honour  the  charge  they  made  ! 
Honour  the  Light  Brigade, 

Noble  six  hundred  ! 

Tennyson. 


82 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


ST.   FILOMENA 

Whene'er  a  noble  deed  is  wrought, 
Whene'er  is  spoken  a  noble  thought, 

Our  hearts  in  glad  surprise 

To  higher  levels  rise. 

The  tidal  wave  of  deeper  souls, 
Into  our  inmost  being  rolls, 

And  lifts  us  unawares 

Out  of  all  meaner  cares. 

Honour  to  those  whose  words  or  deeds 
Thus  help  us  in  our  daily  needs, 
And  by  their  overflow 
Raise  us  from  what  is  low  ! 

Thus,  thought  1,  as  by  night  I  read 
Of  the  great  army  of  the  dead, 
The  trenches  cold  and  damp. 
The  starved  and  frozen  camp. 
83 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

The  wounded  from  the  battle-pIaln, 
In  dreary  hospitals  of  pain, 

The  cheerless  corridors, 

The  cold  and  stony  floors. 


Lo  !  in  that  house  of  misery 

A  lady  with  a  lamp  I  see, 

Pass  through  the  glimmering  gloom 
And  flit  from  room  to  room. 


And  slow,  as  in  a  dream  of  bliss 
The  speechless  sufferer  turns  to  kiss 
Her  shadow,  as  it  falls 
Upon  the  darkening  walls. 


As  if  a  door  in  heaven  should  be 
Opened  and  then  closed  suddenly 
The  vision  came  and  went. 
The  light  shone  and  was  spent. 


On  England's  annals,  through  the  long 
Hereafter  of  her  speech  and  song, 

That  light  its  ray  shall  cast 

From  portals  of  the  past. 
84 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

A   Lady  with  a  Lamp  shall  stand 
In  the  great  history  of  the  land, 

A  noble  type  of  good 

Heroic  womanhood. 


Nor  even  shall  she  be  wanting  here 
The  palm,  the  lily,  and  the  spear. 

The  symbols  that  of  yore. 

Saint  Filomena  bore. 

Henry  W.  Longfellozv. 


8-; 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BALTIC 

Of  Nelson  and  the  North, 
Sing  the  glorious  days  renown. 
When  to  the  battle  fierce  came  forth 
All  the  might  of  Denmark's  crown, 
And  her  arms  along  the  deep  proudly  shone ; 
By  each  gun  the  lighted  brand, 
In  a  bold,  determined  hand. 
And  the  prince  of  all  the  land, 
Led  them  on. 

Like  Leviathans  afloat 
Lay  their  bulwarks  on  the  brine, 
While  the  sign  of  battle  flew. 
On  the  lofty  British  line. 
It  was  ten  of  April  morn  by  the  chime  ; 
As  they  drifted  on  their  path, 
There  was  silence  deep  as  death  ; 
And  the  boldest  held  his  breath, 
For  a  time. 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

But  the  might  of  England  flushed 

To  anticipate  the  scene  ; 

And  her  van  the  fleeter  rushed 

O'er  the  deadly  space  between. 

"  Hearts  of  oak  ! "    our  captain   cried  :    when   each 

gun, 
From  its  adamantine  lips, 
Spread  a  death-shade  round  the  ships, 
Like  the  hurricane  eclipse 

Of  the  sun. 


Again  !  again  !  again  ! 
And  the  havoc  did  not  slack, 
Till  a  feebler  cheer  the  Dane, 
To  our  cheering  sent  us  back  : — 
Their  shots  along  the  deep  slowly  boom 
Then  ceased — and  all  is  wail. 
As  they  strike  the  shattered  sail  ; 
Or,  in  conflagration  pale. 
Light  the  gloom. 

Out  spoke  the  victor  then. 
As  he  hailed  them  o'er  the  wave  : 
"  Ye  are  brothers  !  ye  are  men  ! 
And  we  conquer  but  to  save  ;— 
So  peace  instead  of  death  let  us  bring  ; 
87 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

But  yield,  proud  foe,  thy  fleet. 
With  the  crews,  at  England's  feet. 
And  make  submission  meet  ! 
To  our  King." 


Then   Denmark  blessed  our  chief,* 
That  he  gave  her  wounds  repose  ; 
And  the  sounds  of  joy  and  grief 
From  her  people  wildly  rose, 
As  death  withdrew  his  shades  from  the  day 
While  the  sun  looked  shining  bright 
O'er  a  wide  and  woeful  sight, 
Where  the  fires  of  funeral  light 
Died  away. 


Now  joy,  Old  England,  raise  ! ,' 
For  the  tidings  of  thy  might, 
By  the  festal  cities'  blaze. 
While  the  wine-cup  shines  in  light  ; 
And  yet  amidst  that  joy  and  uproar 
Let  us  think  of  them  that  sleep, 
Full  many  a  fathom  deep. 
By  thy  wild  and  stormy  steep, 
Elsinore. 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Brave  hearts !  to  Britain's  pride 
Once  so  faithful  and  so  true, 
On  the  deck  of  fame  that  died 
With  the  gallant  good  Riou  ; 

Soft  sigh  the  winds  of  Heaven  o'er  their  grave  ! 
While  the  billow  mournful  rolls, 
And  the  mermaid's  song  condoles. 
Singing  glory  to  the  souls 
Of  the  brave  ! 

Thomas  Campbell. 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


WATERLOO 

Stop  ! — for  thy  tread  is  on  an  empire's  dust, 
An  earthquake's  spoil  is  sepulchred  below  ! 

Is  the  spot  mark'd  with  no  colossal  bust? 
Nor  column  trophied  for  triumphal  show  ? 

None  :   but  the  moral's  truth  tells  simpler  so. 
As  the  ground  was  before,  thus  let  it  be  ; 

How  that  red  rain  hath  made  the  harvest  grow  ! 
And  is  this  all  the  world  hath  gained  by  thee. 
Thou     first     and     last     of     fields  !      king-making 
victory  ? 

There  was  sound  of  revelry  by  night, 

And  Belgium's  capital  had  gather'd  then 
Her  Beauty  and  her  Chivalry,  and  bright 
The    lamps    shone    o'er    fair  women    and    brave 
men  ; 
A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily  ;  and  when 

Music  arose,  with  its  voluptuous  swell. 
Soft  eyes  look'd  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again, 
And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell  ; — 
But   hush !    hark  !    a   deep   sound    strikes   like   a 
rising  knell  ! 

90 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

Did  ye  not  hear  it  ?     No,  'twas  but  the  wind, 

Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street : 
On  with  the  dance  !  let  joy  be  unconfined — 

No  sleep  till  morn,  when  Youth  and  Pleasure  meet 
To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet — 

But    hark  !    that    heavy   sound    breaks    in    once 
more. 
As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat  ; 

And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before  ! 

Arm  !  arm  !  it  is  !    it  is  !    the  cannon's  opening 
roar  ! 

Within  a  window'd  niche  of  that  high  call 

Sat  Brunswick's  fated  chieftain  ;  he  did  hear 
That  sound  the  first  amidst  the  festival. 

And  caught  its  tone  with  Death's  prophetic  ear; 
And  when  they  smiled  because  he  deem'd  it  near, 

His  heart  more  truly  knew  that  peal  too  well 
Which  stretched  his  father  on  a  bloody  bier, 

And  roused  the  vengeance  blood  alone  could  quell ; 

He  rush'd  into   the   field,  and,  foremost   fighting, 
fell! 

Ah  !   then  ,and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
And  gathering  tears  and  tremblings  of  distress. 

And  cheeks  all  pale,  which  but  an  hour  ago 
Blushed  at  the  praise  of  their  own  loveliness ; 

91 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

And  there  were  sudden  partings,  such  as  press 
The  life  from  out  the  young  hearts,  and  choking 
sighs 

Which  ne'er  might  be  repeated  !    Who  could  guess 
If  evermore  should  meet  those  mutual  eyes, 

Since  upon  night  so  sweet  such  awful  morn   could 


And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste  ;  the  steed. 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car. 

Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed. 
And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war ; 

And  the  deep  thunder,  peal  on  peal,  afar  ; 
And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum 

Roused  up  the  soldier,  ere  the  morning  star ; 
While  throng'd  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb. 
Or  whispering  with  white  lips — "  The  foe  !    They 
come,  they  come  !  " 

And    wild    and    high  the    "Cameron's   gathering 
rose — 
The  war  note  of  Lochiel,  which  Albyn's  hills 
Have  heard— and  heard  too  have  her  Saxon  foes — 

How  in  the  noon  of  night  that  pilbroch  thrills. 
Savage  and  shrill  !     But  with  the  breath  which  fills 

Their  mountain  pipe,  so  fill  the  mountaineers 
With  the  fierce  native  daring,  which  instils 
92 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

The  stirring  memory  of  a  thousand  years  ; 
And  Evan's,  Donald's  fame  rings  in  each  clans- 
man's ears  I 

And  Ardennes  waves  above  them  her  green  leaves, 

Dewy  with  Nature's  tear-drops,  as  they  pass 
Grieving — if  aught  inanimate  e'er  grieves — 

Over  the  unreturning  brave — alas  ! 
E'er  evening  to  be  trodden  like  the  grass. 

Which  now  beneath  them,  but  above  shall  grow 
In  its  next  verdure  ;   when  this  fiery  mass 

Of  living  valour,  rolling  on  the  foe, 

And  burning  with  high  hope,  shall  moulder  cold 
and  low ! 

Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life. 

Last  eve  in  Beauty's  circle  proudly  gay  ; 
The  midnight  brought  the  signal-sound  of  strife  ; 

The  morn  the  marshalling  in  arms  ;   the  day 
Battle's  magnificently  stern  array  ! 
The    thunder    clouds    close   o'er   it,   which   when 
rent. 
The  earth  is  cover'd  thick  with  other  clay, 

Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover,  heap'd  and  pent, 
Rider   and   horse, — friend,  foe — in  one   red   burial 
blent  ! 

Lord  Byron. 
93 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


THE   FRENCH   ARMY   IN   RUSSIA,  1812-13 


Humanity,  delighting  to  behold 

A  fond  reflection  of  her  own  decay. 

Hath  painted  Winter  Hke  a  traveller  old. 

Propped  on  a  stafT,  and,  through  the  sullen  day. 

In  hooded  mantle,  limping  o'er  the  plain, 

As  though  his  weakness  were  disturbed  by  pain 

Or,  if  a  juster  fancy  should  allow 

An  undisputed  symbol  of  command. 

The  chosen  sceptre  is  a  withered  bough. 

Infirmly  grasped  within  a  palsied  hand. 

These  emblems  suit  the  helpless  and  forlorn  ; 

But  mighty  Winter  the  device  shall  scorn. 


For  he  it  was — dread  Winter  !  who  beset. 
Flinging  round  van  and  rear  his  ghastly  net. 
That  host,  when  from  the  regions  of  the  Pole 
They  shrunk,  insane  amibition's  barren  goal — 

94 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


That  host,  as  huge  and  strong  as  e'er  defied 
Their  God,  and  placed  their  trust  in  human  pride  ! 
As  fathers  persecute  rebellious  sons. 
He  smote  the  blossoms  of  their  warrior  youth  ; 
He  called  on  Frost's  inexorable  tooth 
Life  to  consume  in  Manhoods  firmest  hold  ; 
Nor  spared  the  reverend  blood  that  feebly  runs  ; 
For  why — unless  for  liberty  enrolled 
And  sacred  home — ah  !   whj'  should  hoary  Age  be 
bold  ? 


Fleet  the  Tartar's  reinless  steed, 
But  fleeter  far  the  pinions  of  the   Wind, 
Which  from  Siberian  caves  the  Monarch  freed, 
And  sent  him  forth,  with  squadrons  of  his  kind, 
And  bade  the  SnoM   their  ample  backs  bestride. 

And  to  the  battle  ride. 
No  pitying  voice  commands  a  halt, 
No  courage  can  repel  the  dire  assault  ; 
Distracted,  spiritless,  benumbed,  and  blind. 
Whole  legions  sink — and,  in  one  instant,  find 
Burial  and  death  :   look  for  them — and  descry. 
When  morn  returns,  beneath   the  clear  blue  sky, 
A  soundless  waste,  a  trackless  vacancy  ! 


95 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


Ye  Storms,  resound  the  praises  of  your  King  ! 
And  ye  mild  Seasons — in  a  sunny  clime, 
Midway  on  some  high  hill,  while  father  Time 
Looks  on  delighted — meet   in  festal   ring. 
And  loud  and  long  of  Winter's  triumph  sing  ! 
Sing   ye,  with  blossoms    crowned,  and  fruits,  and 

flowers. 
Of  Winter's  breath  surcharged  with  sleety  showers, 
And  the  dire  flapping  of  his  hoary  wing  ! 
Knit  the  blithe  dance  upon  the  soft  green  grass  ; 
With    feet,    hands,    eyes,    looks,    lips,   report    your 

gain  ; 
Whisper  it  to  the  billows  of  the  main. 
And  to  the  aerial  zephyrs  as  they  pass. 
That  old  decrepit  Winter — He  hath  slain 
That  Host,  which  rendered  all  your  bounties  vain  ! 


By  Moscow  self-devoted  to  a  blaze 
Of  dreadful  sacrifice  ;  by  Russian  blood 
Lavished  in  fight  with  desperate  hardihood  ; 
The  unfeeling  Elements  no  claim  shall  raise 
To  rob  our  Human-nature  of  just  praise 
96 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

For  what  she  did  and  suffered.     Pledges  sure 

Of  a  deliverance  absolute  and  pure 

She  gave,  if  Faith  might  tread  the  beaten  ways 

Of  Providence.     But  now  did  the  Most  High 

Exalt  his  still  small  voice  ; — to  quell  that  Host 

Gathered  his  power,  a  manifest  ally  ; 

He,    whose   heaped    waves    confounded  the  proud 

boast  : 
Of  Pharaoh,  said  to  Famine,  Snow,  and  Frost, 
"  Finish  the  strife  by  deadliest  victory  ! " 

(1816)  William   Wordsworth. 


97 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BLENHEIM 

It  was  a  summer  evening, 

Old  Kaspar's  work  was  done, 
And  he  before  his  cottage  door 

Was  sitting  in  the  sun  ; 
And  by  him  sported  on  the  green 
His  little  grandchild  Wilhelmine. 

She  saw  her  brother  Peterkin 
Roll  something  large  and  round, 

That  he  beside  the  rivulet 
In  playing  there  had  found  ; 

He  came  to  ask  what  he  had  found 

That  was  so  large  and  smooth  and  round. 

Old  Kaspar  took  it  from  the  boy. 

Who  stood  expectant  by  ; 
And  then  the  old  man  shook  his  head. 

And  with  a  natural  sigh, 
"'Tis  some  poor  fellow's  skull,"  said  he, 
"  Who  fell  in  the  great  victory. 
98 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

"  I  find  them  in  my  garden,  for 

There's  many  hereabout  ; 
And  often  when  I  go  to  plough  ; 

The  ploughshare  turns  them  out, 
For  many  thousand  men,"  said  he, 
"  Were  slain  in  that  great  victory." 

"  Now  tell  us  what  'twas  all  about," 

Young  Peterkin,  he  cries, 
And  little  Wilhelmine  looks  up 

With  wonder-waiting  eyes  ; 
"  Now  tell  us  all  about  the  war. 
And  what  they  killed  each  other  for  ? " 

"  It  was  the  English,"  Kaspar  cried, 
"  Who  put  the   French  to  rout  ; 

But  what  they  fought  each  other  for, 
I  could  not  well  make  out. 

But  everybody  said,"  quoth  he, 

"That  'twas  a  famous  victory. 

"My  father  lived  at  Blenheim  then. 

Yon  little  stream  hard  by  ; 
They  burned  his  dwelling  to  the  ground. 

And  he  was  forced  to  fly  ; 
So  with  his  wife  and  child  he  fled, 
Nor  had  he  where  to  rest  his  head. 
99 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

"  With  fire  and  sword  the  country  round 

Was  wasted  far  and  wide  ; 
And  many  a  tender  mother  then, 

And  new-born  baby,  died  ; 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
At  every  famous  victory, 

"  They  say  it  was  a  shocking  sight 

After  the  field  was  won. 
For  many  thousand  soldiers  there 

Lay  rotting  in  the  sun  ; 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 

After  a  famous  victory. 

"  Great  praise  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  won, 

And  our  good  Prince  Eugene." 
"  Why,  'twas  a  very  wicked  thing  ! " 

Said  little  Wilhemine. 
"  Nay  nay,  my  little  girl " — quoth  he, 
"  It  was  a  famous  victory. 

"And  everybody  praised  the  Duke 

Who  this  great  fight  did  win," 
"  But  what  good  came  of  it  at  last  ? " 

Quoth  little  Peterkin. 

"  Why,  that  I  cannot  tell,"  said  he  ; 

"  But  'twas  a  famous  victory. " 

Southey. 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


THE   BURIAL  OF  SIR  JOHN  MOORE 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note. 
As  his  corse  to  the  ramparts  we  hurried  ; 

Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot, 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

We  buried  him  darkly  at  dead  of  night. 
The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning. 

By  the  struggling  moonbeams'  misty  light, 
And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

No  useless  coflTni  enclosed  his  breast. 

Not  in  sheet  nor  In  shroud  we  wound  him  ; 

But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest, 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 

Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said. 
And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow  ; 

But  we   steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face   of   the  dead, 
And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

lOI 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

We  thought,  as  we  hollowed  his  narrow  bed, 
And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow, 

That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o'er  his 
head. 
And  we  far  away  on  the  billow  ! 

Lightly  they'll  talk  of  the  spirit  that's  gone. 
And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him  ; 

But  little  he'll  reck,  if  they  let  him  sleep  on, 
In  the  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid  him. 

But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done. 

When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  of  retiring  ! 

And  we  heard  the  distant  and  random  gun. 
That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down. 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh   and  gory  ; 

We  carved  not  a  line,  and  we  raised  not  a  stone, 
But  we  left  him  alone  with  his  glory. 

Charles  Wolfe. 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


THE  BATTLE  OF  HOHENLINDEN 

On  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow, 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

But  Linden  saw  another  sight, 
When  the  drum  beat,  at  dead  of  night, 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  arrayed. 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle  blade. 
And  furious  every  charger  neighed, 
To  join  the  dreadful   revelry. 

Then  shook  the  hills  with   plunder  riven  ; 
Then  rushed  the   steed  to  battle  driven  ; 
And,  louder  than  the  bolts  of  heaven. 
Far  flashed  the  red  artillery. 
103 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

But  redder  yet  that  light  shall  glow 
On   Linden's  hills  of  stained  snow, 
And  bloodier  yet  the  torrent  flow, 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

'Tis  morn,  but  scarce  yon  level  sun 
Can  pierce  the  war  clouds'  rolling  dun, 
Where  furious  Frank  and  fiery  Hun 
Shout  in  their  sulphurous  canopy. 

The  combat  deepens.     On,  ye  brave. 
Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave  ! 
Wave,  Munich  !  all  thy  banners  wave. 
And  charge  with   all  thy  chivalry. 

Few,  few  shall  part  where  many  meet ! 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding  sheet. 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet. 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulchre. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


104 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


FLODDEN 

At  length  the  freshening  western  blast 
Aside  the  shroud  of  battle  cast  : 
And,  first,  the  ridge  of  mingled  spears 
Above  the  brightening  cloud  appears  ; 
And  in  the  smoke  the  pennons   flew. 
As  in  the  storm  the  white  sea-mew. 
Then  mark'd  they,  dashing  broad  and  far. 
The  broken  billows  of  the  war. 
And  plumed  crests  of  chieftains  brave, 
Floating  like  foam  upon  the  wave  ; 

But  nought  distinct  they  see  ; 
Wide  raged  the  battle  on  the  plain  ; 
Spears  shook,  and  falchions  flash'd  amain  ; 
Fell  England's  arrow-flight  like  rain  ; 
Crests  rose,  and  stoop'd  and  rose  again, 

Wild  and  disorderly. 
Amid  the  scene  of  tumult,  high 
They  saw  Lord  Marmion's  falcon  fly  ; 
105 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

And  stainless  Tunstall's  banner  white, 
And  Edmund  Howard's  lion  bright, 
Still  bear  them  bravely  in  the  fight ; 

Although  against  them  come. 
Of  gallant  Gordons  many  a  one. 
And  many  a  stubborn  Highlandman, 
And  many  a  rugged  Border  clan. 

With  Huntly,  and  with  Home. 


Far  on  the  left,  unseen  the  while, 
Stanley  broke  Lennox  and  Argyle  ; 
Though  there  the  western  mountaineer 
Rush'd  with  bare  bosom  on  the  spear. 
And  flung  the  feeble  targe  aside, 
And  with  both  hands  the  broadsword  plied. 
'Twas  vain  : — But  Fortune,  on  the  right. 
With  fickle  smile,  cheer"d  Scotland's  fight. 
Then  fell  that  spotless  banner  white. 

The  Howard's  lion  fell  ; 
Yet  still  Lord  Marmion's  falcon  flew 
With  wavering  flight,  while  fiercer  grew 

Around  the  battle-yell. 
The  Border  slogan  rent  the  sky  I 
A  Home  !  a  Gordon  !  was  the  cry  ; 

Loud  were  the  clanging  blows  ; 
Advanced,— forced  back, — now  low,  now  high 
1 06 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


The  pennon  sunk  and  rose  ; 

As  bends  the  bark's  mast  in  the  gale. 

When  rent  are  rigging,  shrouds,  and  sail, 

It  waver'd  mid  the  foes- 
No  longer  Blount  the  view  could  bear  : 
"  By  Heaven,  and  all  its  saints  !  I  swear, 

1  will  not  see  it  lost  ! 
Fitz-Eustace,  you  with  Lady  Clare 
May  bid  your  beads,  and  patter  prayer,— 

I  gallop  to  the  host." 
And  to  the  fray  he  rode  amain, 
Follow'd  by  all  the  archer  train, 
The  fiery  youth,  with  desperate  charge, 
Made,  for  a  space,  an  opening  large, — 

The  rescued  banner  rose, — 
But  darkly  closed  the  war  around, 
Like  pine-tree,  rooted  from  the  ground, 

It  sunk  among  the  foes. 
Then  Eustace  mounted  too  :— yet  staid 
As  loath  to  leave  the  helpless  maid, 

When,  fast  as  shaft  can  fly. 
Blood-shot  his  eyes,  his  nostrils  spread, 
The  loose  rein  dangling  from  his  head, 
Housing  and  saddle  bloody  red. 

Lord  Marmion's  steed  rush'd  by  ; 
And  Eustace,  maddening  at  the  sight, 
A  look  and  sign  to  Clara  cast 
107 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

To  mark  he  would  return  in  haste, 
Then  plunged  into  the  fight. 


Ask  me  not  what  the  maiden  feels, 
Left  in  that  dreadful  hour  alone  : 
Perchance  her  reason  stoops,  or  reels  ; 
Perchance  a  courage,  not  her  own. 
Braces  her  mind  to  desperate  tone. 
The  scatter'd  van  of  England  wheels  : — 
She  only  said,  as  loud  in  air 
The  tumult  roar'd,  "  Is  Wilton  there  ?  " — 
They  fly,  or,  madden'd  by  despair. 
Fight  but  to  die,— "  Is  Wilton  there?" 
With  that,  straight  up  the  hill  they  rode 
Two  horsemen  drench'd  with  gore. 
And  in  their  arms,  a  helpless  load, 

A  wounded  knight  they  bore. 
His  hand  still  strain'd  the  broken  brand  ; 
His  arms  were  smear'd  with  blood  and  sand. 
Dragg'd  from  among  the  horses'  feet, 
With  dinted  shield,  and  helmet  beat, 
The  falcon-crest  and  plumage  gone. 
Can  that  be  haughty  Marmion  !  .  .  . 
Young  Blount  his  armour  did  unlace, 
And,  gazing  on  his  ghastly  face, 
Said — "  By  Saint  George,  he's  gone 
lo8 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

That  spear-wound  has  our  master  sped, 
And  see  the  deep  cut  on  his  head  ! 

Good-night  to  Marmion," — 
"  Unnurtured  Blount  !  thy  brawling  cease  ; 
He  opes  his  eyes,"  said  Eustace  ;  "  peace  ! " 


When,  doff'd  his  casque,  he  felt  free  air. 

Around  'gan  Marmion  wildly  stare  : — 

"  Where's  Harry  Blount  ?    Fitz-Eustace  where  ? 

Linger  ye  here,  ye  hearts  of  hare ! 

Redeem  my  pennon, — charge  again  ! 

Cry — '  Marmion  to  the  rescue  ! ' — Vain  ! 

Last  of  my  race,  on  battle-plain 

That  shout  shall  ne'er  be  heard  again  ! 

Yet  my  last  thought  is  England's, — fly, 
To  Dacre  bear  my  signet-ring  ; 
Tell  him  his  squadrons  up  to  bring. — 

Fitz-Eustace,  to  Lord  Surrey  hie  ; 
Tunstall  lies  dead  upon  the  field. 
His  life-blood  stains  the  spotless  shield 
Edmund  is  down  :^my  life  is  reft  ; 
The  Admiral  alone  is  left. 
Let  Stanley  charge  with  spur  of  fire, — 
With  Chester  charge,  and  Lancashire, 
Full  upon  Scotland's  central  host, 
Or  victory  and  England's  lost. — 
109 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

Must  I  bid  twice  ? — hence,  varlets  !  fly  ! 

Leave  Marmion  here  alone — to  die." 

They  parted,  and  alone  he  lay  ; 

Clare  drew  her  from  the  sight  away. 
Till  pain  wrung  forth  a  lowly  moan, 
And  half  he  murmur'd, — "  Is  there  none, 

Of  all  my  halls  have  nurst. 
Page,  squire,  or  groom,  one  cup  to  bring 
Of  blessed  water  from  the  spring, 

To  slake  my  dying  thirst  !" 


O,  Woman  !  in  our  hours  of  ease 

Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please, 

And  variable  as  the  shade 

By  the  light  quivering  aspen  made  ; 

When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 

A  ministering  angel  thou  ! — 

Scarce  were  the  piteous  accents  said, 

When,  with  the  Baron's  casque,  the  maid 

To  the  nigh  streamlet  ran  : 
Forgot  were  hatred,  wrongs,  and  fears ; 
The  plaintive  voice  alone  she  hears. 

Sees  but  the  dying  man. 
She  stoop'd  her  by  the  runnel's  side, 

But  in  abhorrence  backward  drew  ; 
For,  oozing  from  the  mountain's  side, 
no 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


Where  raged  the  war,  a  dark-red  tide 

Was  curdling  in  the  streamlet  blue. 
Where  shall  she  turn?— behold  her  mark 

A  little  fountain  cell, 
Where  water,  clear  as  diamond-spark, 

In  a  stone  basin  fell. 
Above,  some  half-worn  letters  say, 
"Drink,  weary  pilgrim,  drink,  and  pray 
For  the  kind  soul  of  Sybil  Grey, 

Who  built  this  cross  and  well." 
She  fill'd  the  helm,  and  back  she  hied. 
And  with  surprise  and  joy  espied 

A  Monk  supporting  Marmion's  head : 
A  pious  man,  whom  duty  brought 
To  dubious  verge  of  battle  fought. 

To  shrieve  the  dying,  bless  the  dead. 


Deep  drank  Lord  Marmion  of  the  wave, 
And,  as  she  stoop'd  his  brow  to  lave— 
"  Is  it  the  hand  of  Clare,"  he  said, 
"Or  injured  Constance,  bathes  my  head?" 

Then,  as  remembrance  rose, — 
"  Speak  not  to  me  of  shrift  or  prayer  ! 

I  must  redress  her  woes. 
Short  space,  few  words,  are  mine  to  spare  ; 
Forgive  and  listen,  gentle  Clare  !  '"— 
III 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

"  Alas  ! "  she  said,  "  the  while, — 
O,  think  of  your  immortal  weal  ! 
In  vain  for  Constance  is  your  zeal  ; 

She died  at  Holy  Isle." — 

Lord  Marmion  started  from  the  ground, 
As  light  as  if  he  felt  no  wound  ; 
Though  in  the  action  burst  the  tide. 
In  torrents,  from  his  wounded  side. 
"  Then  it  was  truth,"  he  said — "  I  knew 
That  the  dark  presage  must  be  true. — 
I  would  the  Fiend,  to  whom  belongs 
The  vengeance  due  to  all  her  wrongs, 

Would  spare  me  but  a  day  ! 
For  wasting  fire,  and  dying  groan, 
And  priests  slain  on  the  altar-stone. 

Might  bribe  him  for  delay. 
It  may  not  be  ! — this  dizzy  trance — 
Curse  on  yon  base  marauder  s  lance. 
And  doubly  cursed  my  failing  brand  ! 
A  sinful  heart  makes  feeble  hand." 
Then,  fainting,  down  on  earth  he  sunk, 
Supported  by  the  trembling  Monk. 


With  fruitless  labour,  Clara  bound, 

And  strove  to  stanch  the  gushing  wound  ; 

The  Monk,  with  unvailing  cares, 

112 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

Exhausted  all  the  Church's  prayers 
Ever,  he  said,  that,  close  and  near, 
A  lady's  voice  was  in  his  ear. 
And  that  the  priest  he  could  not  hear. 

For  that  she  ever  sung, 
"  In  the  lost  battle,  borne  down  by  the  flying. 
Where    mingles    war's    rattle    with    groans    of    the 
dying  ! " 

So  the  notes  rung  ; — 
"  Avoid  thee,  Fiend  ! — with  cruel  hand. 
Shake  not  the  dying  sinner's  sand  ! — 
O,  look,  my  son,  upon  yon  sign 
Of  the  Redeemer's  grace  divine  : 

O,  think  on  faith  and  bliss  ! — 
By  many  a  death-bed  I  have  been. 
And  many  a  sinner's  parting  seen. 

But  never  aught  like  this." — 
The  war,  that  for  a  space  did  fail. 
Now  trebly  thundering  swell'd  the  gale, 
And — Stanley  !   was  the  cry  ; 
A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread. 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye  ; 
With  dying  hand,  above  his  head. 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 

And  shouted  "  Victory  ! — 
Charge,  Chester,  charge  !    On,  Stanley,  on  ! ' 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion. 

113  H 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

By  this,  though  deep  the  evening  fell, 
Still  rose  the  battle's  deadly  swell, 
For  still  the  Scots,  around  their  King, 
Unbroken,  fought  in  desperate  ring. 
Where's  now  their  victor  vaward  wing. 

Where  Huntly,  and  where  Home  ? — 
O,  for  a  blast  of  that  dread  horn, 
On  Fontarabian  echoes  borne, 

That  to  King  Charles  did  come, 
When  Roland  brave,  and  Olivier, 
And  every  paladin  and  peer. 

On  Roncesvalles  died  ! 
Such  blast  might  warn  them,  not  in  vain. 
To  quit  the  plunder  of  the  slain. 
And  turn  the  doubtful  day  again. 

While  yet  on  Flodden  side. 
Afar,  the  Royal  Standard  flies, 
And  round  it  toils,  and  bleeds,  and  dies, 

Our  Caledonian  pride  ! 
In  vain  the  wish — for  far  away, 
While  spoil  and  havoc  mark  their  way. 
Near  Sybil's  Cross  the  plunderers  stray. — 
"  O,  Lady,"  cried  the  Monk,  "  away  ! " 

And  placed  her  on  her  steed, 
And  led  her  to  the  chapel  fair, 

Of  Tillmouth  upon  Tweed. 
There  all  the  night  they  spent  in  prayer, 
114 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

And  at  the  dawn  of  morning,  there 
She  met  her  kinsman,  Lord  Fitz-Clare. 


But  as  they  left  the  dark'ning  heath, 
More  desperate  grew  the  strife  of  death. 
The  English  shafts  in  volleys  hail'd, 
In  headlong  charge  their  horse  assail'd  ; 
Front,  flank,  and  rear,  and  squadrons  sweep 
To  break  the  Scottish  circle  deep. 

That  fought  around  their  King. 
But  yet,  though  thick  the  shafts  as  snow. 
Though  charging  knights  like  whirlwinds  go, 
Though  bill-men  ply  the  ghastly  blow. 
Unbroken  was  the  ring  ; 
The  stubborn  spear-men  still  made  good 
Their  dark  impenetrable  wood, 
Each  stepping  where  his  comrade  stood, 

The  instant  that  he  fell. 
No  thought  was  there  of  dastard  flight ; 
Link'd  in  the  serried  phalanx  tight. 
Groom  fought  like  noble,  squire  like  knight. 

As  fearlessly  and  well  ; 
Till  utter  darkness  closed  her  wing 
O'er  their  thin  host  and  wounded  King. 
Then  skilful  Surrey's  sage  commands 
Led  back  from  strife  his  shatter'd  bands ; 
"5 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

And  from  the  charge  they  drew, 

As  mountain-waves,  from  wasted  lands. 

Sweep  back  to  ocean  blue. 
Then  did  their  loss  his  foemen  know ; 
Their  King,  their  Lords,  their  mightiest  low, 
They  melted  from  the  field  as  snow. 
When  streams  are  swoln  and  south  winds  blow, 

Dissolves  in  silent  dew. 
Tweed's  echoes  heard  the  ceaseless  plash. 

While  many  a  broken  band, 
Disordered,  through  her  currents  dash. 

To  gain  the  Scottish  land  ; 
To  town  and  tower,  to  down  and  dale, 
To  tell  red  Flodden's  dismal  tale, 
And  raise  the  universal  wail. 
Tradition,  legend,  tune  and  song. 
Shall  many  an  age  that  wail  prolong  : 
Still  from  the  sire  the  son  shall  hear 
Of  the  stern  strife,  and  carnage  drear, 

Of  Flodden's  fatal  field. 
Where  shiver'd  was  fair  Scotland's  spear. 

And  broken  was  her  shield  ! 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


ii6 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


ON  THE  MASSACRE  IN  PIEDMONT 

Avenge,    O    Lord,    thy    slaughter'd    saints,    whose 
bones 
Lie  scatter'd  on  the  Alpine  mountains  cold  ; 
Ev'n  them  who  kept  thy  truth  so  pure  of  old. 
When  all  our  fathers  worshipt  stocks  and  stones  ; 

Forget  not :  in  thy  book  record  their  groans 
Who  were  thy  sheep,  and  in  their  ancient  fold 
Slain  by  the  bloody  Piemontese,  that  roll'd 
Mother  with  infant  down  the  rocks.     Their  moans 

The  vales  redoubled  to  the  hills,  and  they 
To  Heav'n.    Their  martyr'd  blood  and  ashes  sow 
O'er  all  the  Italian  fields,  where  still  doth  sway 

The  triple  Tyrant  ;  that  from  these  may  grow 
A  hundred  fold,  who,  having  learn'd  thy  way. 
Early  may  fly  the  Babylonian  woe. 

John  Milton. 


117 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


NASEBY 

Oh  !  wherefore  came  ye  forth,  in  triumph  from  the 

North, 
With  your  hands,  and  your  feet,  and  your  raiment 

all  red? 
And  wherefore  doth  your  rout   sent   forth  a  joyous 

shout  ? 
And  whence  be  the  grapes  of  the  wine-press  which 

ye  tread  ? 

O  evil  was  the  root,  and  bitter  was  the  fruit. 
And  crimson  was  the  juice  of  the  vintage  that  we 

trod. 
For  we  trampled  on  the  throng  of  the  haughty  and 

the  strong 
Who  sate  in  the   high   places  and    slew  the   saints 

of  God. 

It  was  about  the  noon  of  a  glorious  day  of  June, 
That  we  saw  their  banners  dance,  and  their  cuirasses 
shine, 

Ii8 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

And   the   Man   of    Blood  was   there,  with    his   long 

essenced  hair, 
And    Astley,  and    Sir   Marmaduke,   and    Rupert   of 

the  Rhine. 


Like  a  servant   of  the  Lord,  with  his  Bible  and  his 

sword, 
The  General  rode  along  us  to  form  us  to  the  fight. 
When  a  murmuring   sound   broke   out,  and  swell'd 

into  a  shout 
Among  the  godless  horsemen  upon  the  tyrant's  right. 

And  hark  !  like  the  roar  of  the  billows  on  the  shore. 
The  cry  of  battle  rises  along  their  charging  line, 
For  God  !  for  the  Cause  !   for  the  Church  !   for  the 

Laws  ! 
For  Charles  King   of   England,  and   Rupert   of   the 

Rhine. 


The  furious  German  comes  with   his  clarions  and 

his  drums. 
His  bravoes  of  Alsatia,  and  pages  of  Whitehall, 
They  are  bursting  on  our  flanks.     Grasp  your  pikes, 

close  your  ranks  ; 
For  Rupert  never   comes  but  to  conquer  or  to  fall. 
H9 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

They  are   here  !    They  rush  on  !     We  are    broken  ! 

We  are  gone  ! 
Our  left  is  borne    before   them   Hke  stubble  on  the 

blast. 
O  Lord,  put   forth   thy  might,  O    Lord,  defend   the 

right  ! 
Stand  back  to  back,  in  God's  name,  and  fight  it  to 

the  last. 


Stout  Skippon  hath  a  wound,  the  centre  hath  given 
ground. 

Hark  !  hark  ! — What  means  the  trampling  of  horse- 
men on  our  rear  ? 

Whose  banners  do  I  see,  boys  ?  'Tis  he,  thank 
God,  'tis  he,  boys  ! 

Bear  up  another  minute  :  brave  Oliver  is  here. 


Their   heads  all   stooping  low,  their  points  all  in  a 

row. 
Like   a   whirlwind    on   the  trees,  like   a    deluge  on 

the  dykes. 
Our  cuirassiers    have    burst    on   the   ranks   of  the 

Accurst, 
And   at  a   shock  have  scattered   the   forest   of  his 

pikes. 

120 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


Fast,  fast,  the  gallants   ride   in   some   safe   nook  to 

hide. 
Their  coward  heads,  predestined  to  rot  on  Temple 

Bar. 
And  he — he  turns,  he  flies  ;    shame  on  those  cruel 

eyes 
That  bore  to  look   on   torture,  and   dare   not   look 

on  war. 

Ho  !  comrades,  scour  the  plain  ;  and,  ere  ye  strip 
the  slain, 

First  give  another  stab  to  make  your  search 
secure  ; 

Then  shake  from  sleeves  and  pockets  their  broad- 
pieces  and  lockets. 

The  tokens  of  the  wanton,  the  plunder  of  the 
poor. 

Fools  !    your  doubtlets  shone  with  gold,  and   your 

hearts  were  gay  and  bold. 
When   you  kissed  your  lily  hands   to   your   lemans 

to-day  ; 
And  to-morrow  shall   the   fox,  from    her  chambers 

in  the  rocks. 
Lead    forth   her   tawny    cubs    to    howl    above    the 

prey. 

121 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Where  be  your  tongues  that  late  mocked  at  heaven 

and  hell  and  fate, 
And  the  fingers  that  once  were  so  busy  with   your 

blades  ; 
Your  perfum'd  satin  clothes,  your  catches  and  your 

oaths. 
Your  stage-plays  and   your  sonnets,  your  diamonds 

and  your  spades? 

Down,  down    for   ever   down   with    the    mitre   and 

the  crown. 
With  the  Belial  of  the  Court,  and  the  Mammon  of 

the  Pope. 
There   is    woe   in    Oxford    Halls  ;   there  is  wail   in 

Durham's  stalls ; 
The  Jesuit  smites  his  bosom  ;  the  Bishop  rends  his 

cope. 

And  She  of  the  seven  hills  shall  mourn  her  children's 

ills. 
And    tremble    when    she    thinks    on    the    edge    of 

England's  sword  ; 
And  the  Kings  of  earth  in  fear  shall  shudder  when 

they  hear 
What  the  hand  of  God  hath  wrought  for  the  Houses 

and  the  Word. 

Lord  Macaulay. 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


THE  WINNING  OF  GALES 

Long  the  proud  Spaniards  had  vaunted  to  conquer 

us, 
Threat'ning  our  country  with  fyer  and  sword  ; 
Often  preparing  their  navy  most  sumptuous 
With  as  great  plenty  as  Spain  could  afford. 
Dub  a  dub,  dub  a  dub,  this  strike  their  drums  ; 
Tantara,  tantara,  the  Englishman  comes. 

To  the  seas  presentlye  went  our  lord  admiral, 
With  knights  couragious  and  captains  full  good  ; 
The  brave  Earl  of  Essex,  a  prosperous  general, 
With  him  prepared  to  pass  the  salt  flood. 

At   Plymouth  speedilye,  took  they  ship  valiantlye. 

Braver  ships  were  never  seen  under  sayle. 

With  their  fair    colours   spread,  and  streamers  o'er 

their  head. 
Now,  bragging  Spaniards,  take  heed  of  your  tayle. 
123 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Unto  Gales  cunninglye,  came  we  most  speedilye, 
Where  the  kinges  navy  securelye  did  ryde  ; 
Being  upon  their  banks,  piercing  their  butt  of  sacks, 
Ere  any  Spaniards  our  coming  descryde. 

Great  was  the  crying,  the  running  and  ryding, 
Which  at  that  season  was  made  in  that  place ; 
The  beacons  were  fyred,  as  need  then  required  ; 
To  hyde  their  great  treasure   they  had  little  space. 

There   you    might    see    their  ships,  how   they  were 

fyred  fast, 
And   how   their   men    drowned  themselves   in    the 

sea  ; 
There  you    might   hear   them   cry,  wayle  and  weep 

piteously. 
When  they  saw  no  shift  to  'scape  thence  away. 

The  great  St.  Philip,  the  pryde  of  the  Spaniards, 
Was  burnt  to  the  bottom,  and  sunk  in  the  sea, 
But  the  St.  Andrezu  and  eke  the  St.  Matthezv, 
Wee  took  in  fight  manfullye  and  brought  away. 

The  Earl  of  Essex,  most  valiant  and  hardye. 
With   horsemen    and    footmen    march'd    up   to  the 
town  ; 

124 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

The    Spaniards    which    saw    them,    were    greatly 

alarmed, 
Did    fly   for  their    savegard,    and    durst   not  come 

down. 


"Now,"  quoth  the  noble  Earl,  "courage  my  soldiers 

all, 
Fight  and  be  valiant,  the  spoil  you  shall  have  ; 
And   be   well    rewarded    all   from   the  great  to  the 

small ; 
But  look  that  the  women  and  children  you  save." 


The   Spaniards   at   that   sight,   thinking   it   vain   to 

fight, 
Hung  up  flags  of  truce  and  yielded  the  towne; 
Wee  marched   in   presentlye,  decking  the  walls  on 

hye 
With  English  colours  which  purchas'd  renowne. 


Entering  the  houses  then,  of  the  most  richest  men. 

For  gold  and  treasure  we  searched  eche  day  ; 

In    some    places    we    did    find,    pyes     baking     left 

behind, 
Meate  at  fire  roasting,  and  folkes  run  away. 
125 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Full   of    rich    merchandise,  every  shop   catch'd   our 

eyes, 
Damasks  and  sattens  and  velvets  full  fayre  : 
Which  soldiers  measur'd  out  by  the  length  of  their 

swords  : 
Of  all  commodities  eche  had  a  share. 


Thus  Gales  was  taken,  and  our  brave  general 
March'd  to  the  market-place,  where  he  did  stand  : 
There  many  prisoners  fell  to  our  several  shares, 
Many  crav'd  mercye  and  mercye  they  fannd. 


When  our  brave  general  saw  they  delayed  all,' 
And  would    not  ransome  their  towne  as  they  said, 
With   their  fair   wanscots,  their   presses    and    bed- 
steads, 
Their  joint-stools  and  tables  a  fire  we  made  ; 
And  when  the  town  burned  all  in  a  flame, 
With  tara,  tantara,  away  we  all  came. 

Anonymous. 


126 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


IVRY 

A  Song  of  the  Huguenots 

Now  glory  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  from  whom  all 
glories  are  ! 

And  glory  to  our  Sovereign  Liege,  King  Henry  of 
Navarre  ! 

Now  let  there  be  the  merry  sound  of  music  and  of 
dance, 

Through  thy  corn-fields  green,  and  sunny  vines,  oh 
pleasant  land  of  France  ! 

And  thou,  Rochelle,  our  own  Rochelle,  proud  city 
of  the  waters, 

Again  let  rapture  light  the  eyes  of  all  thy  mourn- 
ing daughters. 

As  thou  wert  constant  in  our  ills,  be  joyous  in  our 

joy, 
For  cold,  and  stiff,  and  still  are  they  who  wrought 

thy  walls  annoy. 
Hurrah  !    Hurrah  !    a    single   field   hath   turned   the 

chance  of  war, 
Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  for  Ivry,  and  Henry  of  Navarre. 
127 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

Oh  !   how   our  hearts   were   beathig,   when,   at   the 

dawn  of  day, 
We  saw  the  army  of  the  League  drawn  out  in  long 

array  ; 
With    all    its    priest-led   citizens,   and    all    its   rebel 

peers. 
And     Appenzel's     stout     infantry,     and     Egmont's 

Flemish  spears. 
There  rode  the  brood  of  false   Lorraine,  the  curses 

of  our  land  ; 
And  dark  Mayenne  was  in  the  midst,  a   truncheon 

in  his  hand  : 
And,  as  we  looked  on  them,  we  thought  of  Seine's 

empurpled  flood. 
And  good  Coligni's  hoary  hair  all  dabbled  with  his 

blood  ; 
And  we  cried  unto  the  living  God,  who   rules  the 

fate  of  war. 
To    fight   for   His  own   holy   name,   and   Henry  of 

Navarre. 

The  King  is  come  to  marshal   us,  in  all  his  armour 

drest. 
And  he  has  bound   a   snow  white  plume  upon  his 

gallant  crest. 
He  looked  upon  his  people,  and  a  tear  was  in  his 

eye  ; 

128 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

He  looked   upon   the   traitors,  and   his  glance   was 

stern  and  high. 
Right  graciously  he   smiled   on   us,  as   rolled   from 

wing  to  wing, 
Down  all   our   line,   a   deafening   shout,  "  God  save 

our  Lord  the  King  !" 
"  And  if  my  standard-bearer  fall,  as  fall  full  well  he 

may. 
For  never  saw  I  promise  yet  of  such  a  bloody  fray, 
Press  where  ye  see  my  white  plume  shine,   amidst 

the  ranks  of  war, 
And  be  your  oriflamme  to-day  the  helmet  of  Navarre." 

Hurrah  !  the  foes  are  moving.     Hark  to  the  mingled 

din 
Of  fife,  and  steed,  and  trump,  and  drum,  and  roaring 

culverin. 
The  fiery  Duke  is  pricking  fast  across  Saint  Andre's 

plain. 
With    all    the    hireling    chivalry    of    Guelders   and 

Almayne. 
Now  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentlemen  of 

France, 
Charge  for  the  golden   lilies, — upon   them  with   the 

lance. 
A   thousand    spurs    are    striking  deep,  a  thousand 

spears  in  rest, 

129  I 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

A  thousand  knights  are  pressing  close  behind  the 

snow-white  crest  ; 
And  in  they  burst,  and  on   they  rushed,  while  like 

a  guiding  star. 
Amidst  the  thickest  carnage   blazed   the   helmet   of 

Navarre. 

Now,  God   be  praised,   the  day  is  ours.    Mayenne 

hath  turned  his  rein. 
D'Aumale    hath    cried    for    quarter.    The    Flemish 

count  is  slain. 
Their  ranks  are  breaking  like  thin  clouds  before   a 

Biscay  gale  ; 
The  field  is  heaped  with  bleeding  steeds,  and  flags, 

and  cloven  mail. 
And  then  we  thought  on  vengeance,  and,  all  along 

our  van, 
"  Remember    St.    Bartholomew,"  was  passed  from 

man  to  man. 
But  out  spake  gentle  Henry,  "  No  Frenchman  is  my 

foe  : 
Down,  down    with    every   foreigner,   but    let  your 

brethren  go." 
Oh  !  was  there  ever  such  a  knight,  in  friendship  or 

in  war, 
As  our  Sovereign  Lord,  King  Henry,  the  soldier  of 

Navarre  ? 

130 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

Right  well  fought  all  the  Frenchmen  who  fought  for 

France  to-day  ; 
And  many  a  lordly  banner   God   gave   them   for   a 

prey. 
But    we    of    the    religion    have    borne    us    best    in 

fight ; 
And  the  good  Lord  of  Rosny  has  ta'en   the  cornet 

white. 
Our  own    true   Maximilian  the  cornet  white  hath 

ta'en, 
The   cornet   white   with   crosses   black,  the    flag   of 

false  Lorraine. 
Up  with  it  high  ;  unfurl  it  wide  ;  that   all   the   host 

may  know 
How   God   hath   humbled   the   proud  house  which 

wrought  His  church  such  woe. 
Then  on    the   ground,  while   trumpets   sound    their 

loudest  point  of  war. 
Fling  the  red  shreds,  a  footcloth  meet  for  Henry  of 

Navarre. 

Ho  !  maidens  of  Vienna  ;  Ho  !  matrons  of  Lucerne  ; 
Weep,   weep,    and    rend   your   hair   for   those    who 

never  shall  return. 
Ho  !  Philip,  send,  for  charity,  thy  Mexican  pistoles, 
That  Antwerp  monks  may  sing  a  mass  for  thy  poor 

spearmen's  souls. 

131 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

Ho  !  gallant  nobles  of  the  League,  look  that  your 

arms  be  bright  ; 
Ho  !  burghers    of  Saint  Genevieve,  keep  watch  and 

ward  to-night. 
For  our  God  hath  crushed  the  tyrant,  our  God  hath 

raised  the  slave. 
And    mocked    the    counsel    of    the    wise,  and    the 

valour  of  the  brave. 
Then    glory    to    His    holy    name,    from    whom    all 

glories  are  ; 
And   glory  to   our  Sovereign   Lord,  King   Henry  of 

Navarre. 

Lord  Macaulay. 


132 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


THE  SPANISH   ARMADO 

Some  years  of  late,  in  eighty-eight, 
As  I  do  well  remember, 
It  was,  some  say,  the  middle  of  May, 
And  some  say  in  September, 

The  Spanish  train  launch'd  forth  amain. 
With  many  a  fine  bravado. 
Their  (as  they  thought,  but  it  prov'd  not) 
Invincible  Armado, 
Invincible  Armado. 

There  was  a  man  that  dwelt  in  Spain 
Who  shot  well  with  a  gun  a, 
Don  Pedro  hight,  as  black  as  wight 
As  the  Knight  of  the  Sun,  a, 
As  the  Knight  of  the  Sun  a. 

King  Philip  made  him  Admiral, 
And  bid  him  not  to  stay  a. 
But  to  destroy  both  man  and  boy 
And  so  to  come  away  a, 
And  so  to  come  away  a. 
133 


BATTLE     POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

Their  navy  was  well  victualled 
With  bisket,  pease  and  bacon, 
They  brought  two  ships,  well  fraught  with  whips 
But  I  think  they  were  mistaken, 
But  1  think  they  were  mistaken. 

Their  men  were  young,  munition  strong, 
And  to  do  us  more  harm  a, 
They  thought  it  meet  to  joyn  their  fleet 
All  with  the  Prince  of  Parma, 
All  with  the  Prince  of  Parma. 

They  coasted  round  about  our  land. 
And  so  came  in  by  Dover  ; 
But  we  had  men  set  on  'em  then, 
And  threw  the  rascals  over. 

And  threw  the  rascals  over. 

The  Queen  was  then  at  Tilbury, 
What  could  we  more  desire  a  ? 
Sir  Francis  Drake  for  her  svk'eet  sake 
Did  set  them  all  on  fire  a. 

Did  set  them  all  on  fire  a. 

Then  straight  they  fled  by  sea  and  land. 
That  one  man  kill'd  threescore  a. 
And  had  not  they  all  run  away. 
On  truth  he  had  kill  more  a, 

in  truth  he  had  kill'd  more  a. 
134 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


Then  let  them  neither  bray  nor  boast, 
But  if  they  come  again  a, 
Let  them  take  heed  they  do  not  speed 
As  they  did  you  know  when  a. 

As  they  did  you  know  when  a. 

George  Herbert. 


135 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


THE  ARMADA 
A  Fragment 

Attend,  all  ye  who  list  to  hear  our  noble  England's 

praise  ; 
I  tell  of  the  thrice  famous  deeds  she  wrought  in 

ancient  days, 
When  that  great  fleet   invincible   against   her  bore 

in  vain 
The  richest  spoils  of  Mexico,  the  stoutest  hearts  of 

Spain. 

It  was  about  the  lovely  close  of  a  warm  summer 
day, 
There    came   a    gallant    merchant-ship    full   sail  to 

Plymouth  Bay  ; 
Her  crew  hath   seen   Castile's   black   fleet,  beyond 

Aurigny's  isle. 
At  earliest  twilight,  on  the  waves  lie  heaving  many 
a  mile. 

136 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

At  sunrise  she  escaped  their  van,  by  God's  especial 

grace  : 
And  the  tall  Pinta,  till  the  noon,  had  held  her  close 

in  chase. 
Forthwith  a  guard  at  every  gun  was  placed  along 

the  wall  ; 
The  beacon  blazed  upon  the  roof  of   Edgecumbe's 

lofty  hall  ; 
Many  a  light  fishing-bark  put  out  to  pry  along  the 

coast, 
And  with  loose  rein   and   bloody  spur   rode   inland 

many  a  post. 
With    his    white    hair   unbonneted,  the    stout    old 

sheriff  comes  ; 
Behind    him    march    the    halberdiers  ;   before   him 

sound  the  drums  ; 
His  yeomen  round  the  market  cross  make  clear  an 

ample  space  ; 
For  there  behoves  him   to   set  up  the  standard   of 

Her  Grace. 
And  haughtily  the  trumpets   peal,  and   gaily  dance 

the  bells. 
As  slow  upon  the  labouring  wind  the  royal  blazon 

swells. 
Look  how  the  Lion  of  the  sea  lifts  up  his  ancient  crown, 
And  underneath  his  deadly  paw  treads  the  gay  lilies 

down. 

137 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

So   stalked   he  when   he   turned  to  flight,  on   that 

famed  Picard  field, 
Bohemia's  plume,  and   Genoa's  bow,  and  Caesar's 

eagle  shield. 
So  glared  he  when  at  Agincourt  in  wrath  he  turned 

to  bay, 
And  crushed  and  torn  beneath  his  claws  the  princely 

hunters  lay. 
Ho  !   strike    the    flagstaff    deep,    Sir    Knight :     ho  ! 

scatter  flowers,  fair  maids  : 
Ho  !  gunners,  fire  a  loud  salute  :  ho  I  gallants,  draw 

your  blades  : 
Thou  sun,  shine  on  her  joyously  ;  ye   breezes,  waft 

her  wide  ; 
Our  glorious  semper  eadem,  the  banner  of  our  pride. 

The  freshening  breeze  of  eve  unfurled  that  banner's 

massy  fold  ; 
The  parting  gleam  of  sunshine  kissed  that  haughty 

scroll  of  gold  ; 
Night  sank  upon  the  dusky  beach,  and  on  the  purple 

sea. 
Such    night    in    England   ne'er   had   been,   nor   e'er 

again  shall  be. 
From  Eddj'stone  to  Berwick  bounds,  from  Lynn  to 

Milford  Bay, 

138 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

That  time  of  slumber  was  as  bright  and  busy  as 

the  day ; 
For  swift  to  east  and  swift  to  west  the  ghastly  war- 
flame  spread, 
High  on  St.  Michael's  Mount  it  shone  :  it  shone  on 

Beachy  Head. 
Far   on   the  deep    the    Spaniard    saw,    along  each 

southern  shire, 
Cape  beyond  cape,  in  endless  range,  those  twinkling 

points  of  fire. 
The  fisher  left  his  skiff  to  rock  on  Tamar's  glittering 

waves  : 
The  rugged   miners  poured  to  war  from   Mendip's 

sunless  caves  : 
O'er  Longleat's  towers,  o'er  Cranbourne's  oaks,  the 

fiery  herald  flew  : 
He  roused  the  shepherds  of  Stonehenge,  the  rangers 

of  Beaulieu. 
Right  sharp  and  quick  the  bells  all  night  rang  out 

from  Bristol  town. 
And  ere  the  day  three  hundred  horse  had  met   on 

Clifton  down  ; 
The  sentinel    on  Whitehall   gate   looked   forth   into 

the  night, 
And  saw  o'erhanging  Richmond   Hill  the  streak  of 

blood-red  light, 

139 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

Then  bugle's  note  and  cannon's  roar  the  deathlike 
silence  broke, 

And   with   one   start,  and  with    one   cry,  the  royal 

city  woke. 
At  once  on  all  her  stately  gates  arose  the  answer- 
ing fires  ; 
At  once  the  wild  alarum  clashed  from  all  her  reeling 

spires  ; 
From   all    the    batteries  of  the  Tower  pealed   loud 

the  voice  of  fear  ; 
And  all  the  thousand  masts  of  Thames  sent  back  a 

louder  cheer ; 
And  from  the  furthest  wards  was  heard   the  rush 

of  hurrying  feet. 
And  the  broad  streams  of  pikes  and   flags  rushed 

down  each  roaring  street ; 
And   broader   still    became   the    blaze,   and   louder 

still  the  din. 
As  fast   from   every  village   round    the   horse   came 

spurring  in  : 
And  eastward  straight  from   M-ild    Blackheath   the 

warlike  errand  went. 
And  roused  in   many  an   ancient  hall  the  gallant 

squires  of  Kent. 
Southward  from  Surrey's  pleasant   hills   flew   those 

bright  couriers  forth  ; 
140 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

High   on    bleak    Hampstead's    swarthy  moor    they 

started  for  the  north  ; 
And    on,   and    on,   without    a    pause,   untired   they 

bounded  still  : 
All   night  from   tower   to   tower   they  sprang  ;   they 

sprang  from  hill  to  hill  : 
Till  the  proud  peak  unfurled  the  flag  o'er  Darwin's 

rocky  dales, 
Till  like  volcanoes  flared  to  heaven  the  stormy  hills 

of  Wales, 
Till  twelve  fair  counties  saw  the  blaze  on  Malvern's 

lonely  height. 
Till  streamed  in  crimson  on  the  wind  the  Wrekin's 

crest  of  light, 
Till  broad  and  fierce  the  star  came  forth   on   Ely's 

stately  fane. 
And  tower  and   hamlet   rose   in   arms  o'er  all   the 

boundless  plain  ; 
Till    Belvoir's   lordly   terraces    the    sign    to   Lincoln 

sent 
And  Lincoln  sped  the  message  on  o'er  the  wide  vale 

of  Trent  ; 
Till  Skiddaw  saw  the  fire  that   burned   on   Gaunt's 

embattled  pile. 
And  the  red  glare  on  Skiddaw  roused  the  burghers 

of  Carlisle. 

Lord  Macaulay. 
141 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


SONG  OF  THE  TYROLESE  AFTER  THE 
BATTLE  OF  BRIXEN 

Oh  !  the  pause  of  silent  dread 
After  rush  of  battles  holy  ! 
Lo  !  the  spirits  of  the  dead 
From  the  field  are  floating  slowly  ; 
Dense  the  mist  reeks,  full  of  life 
From  the  blood-hot  place  of  strife, 

But  there's  pride  in  the  gasp   of    our  conquerors 
breath 

Though  their   laurels  be  wreathed  by  the  fingers 
of  Death. 

There's  a  smile  on  the  lip  that  is  ceasing  to  quiver. 

And  a  flash  in  the  eye   that   is  freezing  for  ever. 

Beneath  the  sacred  sod  they  lie  on 
Lay  we  our  triumphant  brave  ; 
This  land  they  loved  to  live  and  die  on. 
And  o'er  their  honourable  grave 
Shall  blossoms  burst  of  brilliant  hue. 
And  softly  shall  distil  the  dew, 
142 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

And  mountain  pines  umbrageous  darkly  wave  ; 
The    stars     shall    look    down     from    the    heaven 

most  brightly 
Where    the   bones  of   the   brave   are,    the    moon 

will  watch  nightly  ; 
Like  the  Alp  that  is  reddest  at  set  of  the  sun, 
Brightest   in    death    is  the    glory   they've  won, 
Our  shouting  the  hymn  at  their  burial  shall  be — 
Oh  !  a  soldier  sleeps  well  in  a  land  that  is  free  ! 

Ruskin. 


143 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


KING   HENRY   V.    BEFORE   HARFLEUR 

Once  more   into    the    breach,    dear    friends,    once 

more  ; 
Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  English  dead  ! 
In  peace,  there's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man 
As  modest  stillness,  and  humility  : 
But  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears. 
Then  imitate  the  action  of  the  tiger  ; 
Stiffen  the  sinews,  summon  up  the  blood, 
Disguise  fair  nature  with  hard-favour'd  rage  ; 
Then  lend  the  eye  a  terrible  aspect ; 
Let  it  pry  through  the  portage  of  the  head. 
Like  the  brass  cannon  ;  let  the  brow  o'erwhelm  it 
As  fearfully  as  doth  a  galled  rock 
,0'erhang  and  jutty  his  confounded  base, 
Swill'd  with  the  wild  and  wasteful  ocean. 
Now  set  the  teeth  and  stretch  the  nostril  wide  ; 
Hold  hard  the  breath,  and  bend  up  every  spirit 
To  his  full  height.    On,  on,  ye  noblest  English, 
Whose  blood  is  fet  from  fathers  of  war-proof  ! 
144 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

Fathers  that,  like  so  many  Alexanders, 

Have  in  these  parts  from  morn  till  even  fought, 

And  sheath'd  their  swords  for  lack  of  argument. 

Dishonour  not  your  mothers  ;  now  attest 

That  those  whom  you  call'd  fathers  did  beget  you  ! 

Be  copy  now  to  men  of  grosser  blood, 

And    teach    them    how    to    war  ! — And    you,  good 

yeomen, 
Whose  limbs  were  made  in  England,  show  us  here 
The  mettle  of  your  pasture  ;  let  us  swear 
That   you  are  worth  your  breeding  ;  which  I  doubt 

not  ; 
For  there  is  none  of  you  so  mean  and  base, 
That  hath  not  noble  lustre  in  your  eyes. 
I  see  you  stand  like  greyhounds  in  the  slips. 
Straining  upon  the  start.     The  game's   afoot  : 
Follow  your  spirit  ;  and,  upon  this  charge, 
Cry  "  God  for  Harry  !  England  !  and  Saint  George  !" 

Shakespeare. 


145 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AGINCOURT 

Fair  stood  the  wind  for  France, 
When  we  our  sails  advance, 
Nor  now  to  prove  our  chance 

Longer  will  tarry. 
But  putting  to  the  main, 
At  Kaux,  the  mouth  of  Seine, 
With  all  his  martial  train. 

Landed  King  Harry. 

And  taking  many  a  fort, 
Furnish'd  in  warlike  sort, 
March'd  towards  Agincourt 

In  happy  hour ; 
Skirmishing  day  by  day 
With  those  that  stopp'd  his  way. 
Where  the  French  gen'ral  lay,  . 

With  all  his  power. 

Which  in  his  height  of  pride. 
King  Henry  to  deride. 
His  ransom  to  provide. 
To  the  King  sending  ; 
146 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Which  he  neglects  the  while, 
As  from  a  nation  vile, 
Yet  with  an  angry  smile, 
Their  fall  portending. 

And  turning  to  his  men. 
Quoth  our  brave  Henry  then, 
"Though  they  to  one  be  ten. 

Be  not  amazed. 
Yet  have  we  well  begun, 
Battles  so  bravely  won, 
Have  ever  to  the  sun 

By  fame  been  raised. 

"And  for  myself,"  quoth  he, 
"This  my  full  rest  shall  be, 
England  ne'er  mourn  for  me. 

Nor  more  esteem  me. 
Victor  I  will  remain, 
Or  on  this  earth  lie  slain, 
Never  shall  she  sustain 

Loss  to  redeem  me. 

"  Poictiers  and  Cressy  tell. 
When  most  their  pride  did  swell. 
Under  our  swords  they  fell. 
No  less  our  skill  is, 
147 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

Than  when  our  grandsire  great, 
Claiming  the  regal  seat, 
By  many  a  warlike  feat, 
Lop'd  the  French  lilies." 

The  Duke  of  York  so  dread, 
The  eager  vanguard  led  ; 
With  the  main  Henry  sped, 

Amongst  his  henchmen. 
Excester  had  the  rear, 
A  braver  man  not  there, 
O  Lord,  how  hot  they  were 

On  the  false  Frenchmen ! 

They  now  to  fight  are  gone, 
Armour  on  armour  shone. 
Drum  now  to  drum  did  groan, 

To  hear  was  wonder 
That  with  cries  they  make. 
The  very  earth  did  shake. 
Trumpet  to  trumpet  spake. 

Thunder  to  thunder. 

Well  it  thine  age  became, 
O  noble  Erpingham, 
Which  did  the  signal  aim 
To  our  hid  forces  : 

148 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

When  from  a  meadow  by 
Like  a  storm  suddenly, 
The  English  archery 

Stuck  the  French  horses. 

With  Spanish  yew  so  strong, 
Arrows  a  cloth-yard  long. 
That  like  to  serpents  stung 

Piercing  the  weather  ; 
None  from  his  fellow  starts. 
But  playing  manly  parts. 
And  like  true  English  hearts, 

Stuck  close  together. 

When  down  their  bows  they  threw, 
And  forth  their  bilbows  drew. 
And  on  the  French  they  flew, 

Not  one  was  tardy  ; 
Arms  were  from  shoulders  sent, 
Scalps  to  the  teeth  were  rent, 
Down  the  French  peasants  went. 

Our  men  were  hardy. 

This  while  our  noble  king," 
His  broad  sword  brandishing, 
Down  the  French  host  did  ding, 
As  to  o'erwhelm  it  ; 

149 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

And  many  a  deep  wound  lent, 
His  arms  with  blood  besprent, 
And  many  a  cruel  dent 
Bruised  his  helmet. 

Glo'ster,  that  duke  so  good, 
Next  of  the  royal  blood. 
For  famous  England  stood, 

With  his  brave  brother  ; 
Clarence  in  steel  so  bright. 
Though  but  a  maiden  knight, 
Yet  in  that  furious  fight, 

Scarce  such  another, 

Warwick  in  blood  did  wade, 
Oxford  the  foe  invade. 
And  cruel  slaughter  made. 

Still  as  they  ran  up  ; 
Suffolk  his  axe  did  ply, 
Beaumont  and  Willoughby, 
Bare  them  right  doughtily, 

Ferrers  and  Fanhope. 

Upon  Saint  Crispin's  day 
Fought  was  this  noble  fray, 
Which  fame  did  not  delay 
To  England  to  carry  ; 
150 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

O  when  shall  Englishmen 

With  such  acts  fill  a  pen, 

Or  England  breed  again 

Such  a  King  Harry? 

Michael  Drayton. 


151 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


ST.   CRISPIN'S   DAY 

This  day  is  calTd  the  feast  of  Crispian  : 

He  that  outlives  this  day,  and  comes  safe  home, 

Will  stand  a  tip-toe  when  this  day  is  nam'd. 

And  rouse  him  at  the  name  of  Crispian. 

He  that  shall  live  this  day,  and  see  old  age, 

Will  yearly  on  the  vigil  feast  his  neighbours, 

And  say,  "  To-morrow  is  Saint  Crispian  "  ; 

Then  will  he  strip  his  sleeve  and  show  his  scars. 

And  say,  "  These    wounds  I  had  on  Crispin's  day." 

Old  men  forget  :  yet  all  shall  be  forgot. 

But  he'll  remember  with  advantages 

What  feats  he  did  that  day.     Then  shall  our  names. 

Familiar  in  his  mouth  as  household  words, 

Harry  the  King,  Bedford  and  Exeter, 

Warwick  and  Talbot,  Salisbury  and  Gloucester, 

Be  in  their  flowing  cups  freshly  remembered. 

This  story  shall  the  good  man  teach  his  son  ; 

And  Crispin  Crispian  shall  ne'er  go  by, 

From  this  day  to  the  ending  of  the  world, 

But  we  in  it  shall  be  remembered  ; 

152 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

We  few,  we  happy  few,  we  band  of  brothers ; 
For  he  to-day  that  sheds  his  blood  with  me 
Shall  be  my  brother  ;  be  he  ne'er  so  vile 
This  day  shall  gentle  his  condition  ; 
And  gentlemen  in  England,  now  a-bed. 
Shall  think  themselves  accursed  they  were  not  here. 
And  hold  their  manhoods  cheap  whiles  any  speaks 
That  fought  with  us  upon  Saint  Crispin's  day. 

Shakespeare. 


153 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


BRUCE  TO  HIS  TROOPS,  BEFORE  THE 
BATTLE  OF  BANNOCKBURN 

Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled, 
Scots  wham  Bruce  has  aften  led  : 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 
Or  to  victory. 

Now's  the  day,  and  now's  the  hour  ; 
See  the  front  of  battle  lour  ; 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power — 
Chains  and  slavery. 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave  ? 
Wha  would  fill  a  coward's  grave  ? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave? 
Let  him  turn  and  flee  ! 

Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law. 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw, 
Free-man  stand,  or  free-man  fa'  ? 
Let  him  follow  me  ! 
154 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


By  oppression's  woes  and  pains  ! 
By  our  sons  in  servile  chains, 
We  >vill  drain  our  dearest  veins, 
But  they  shall  be  free  ! 

Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low ! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe  ! 
Liberty's  in  every  blow  ! 
Let  us  do,  or  die  ! 

Robert  Burns. 


155 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


BOADICEA 

When  the  British  warrior  Queen, 
Bleeding  from  the  Roman  rods, 

Sought,  with  an  indignant  mien. 
Counsels  of  her  country's  gods. 


Sage  beneath  the  spreading  oak, 
Sat  the  Druid,  hoary  chief ; 

Every  burning  word  he  spoke. 
Full  of  rage  and  full  of  grief. 


"  Princess  !  if  our  aged  eyes 

Weep  upon  thy  matchless  wrongs, 

Tis  because  resentment  ties 
All  the  terrors  of  our  tongues. 

"  Rome  shall  perish— write  that  word 
In  the  blood  that  she  has  spilt  ; 

Perish,  hopeless  and  abhorred. 
Deep  in  ruin  as  in  guilt. 

156 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

"  Rome,  for  empire  far  renown'd, 
Tramples  on  a  thousand  states  ; 

Soon  her  pride  shall  kiss  the  ground — 
Hark  !  the  Gaul  is  at  the  gates  ! 

"  Other  Romans  shall  arise, 

Heedless  of  a  soldier's  name  ; 
Sounds,  not  arms,  shall  win  the  prize, 

Harmony  the  path  to  fame. 


"Then  the  progeny  that  springs 
From  the  forests  of  our  land, 

Arm'd  with  thunder,  clad  with  wings. 
Shall  a  wider  world  command. 


"  Regions  Caesar  never  knew 
Thy  posterity  shall  sway  ; 

Where  his  eagles  never  flew. 
None  invincible  as  they." 


Such  the  bard's  prophetic  words, 
Pregnant  with  celestial  fire. 

Bending  as  he  swept  the  chords 
Of  his  sweet  but  awful  lyre. 
157 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

She,  with  all  a  monarch's  pride 
Felt  them  in  her  bosom  glow  ; 

Rush'd  to  battle,  fought  and  died  ; 
Dying  hurl'd  them  at  the  foe. 

Ruffians,  pitiless  as  proud, 

Heaven  awards  the  vengeance  due  ; 

Empire  is  on  us  bestow'd. 

Shame  and  ruin  wait  for  you. 

William   Coxvper. 


158 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


HORATIUS 
A  Lay  made  about  the  Year  of  the  City  ccclx 

Lars  Porsena  of  Clusium 

By  the  Nine  Gods  he  swore 
That  the  great  house  of  Tarquin 

Should  suffer  wrong  no  more. 
By  the  Nine  Gods  he  swore  it, 

And  named  a  trysting  day, 
And  bade  his  messengers  ride  forth, 
East  and  west  and  south  and  north. 

To  summon  his  array. 

East  and  west  and  south  and  north 

The  messengers  ride  fast 
And  tower  and  town  and  cottage 

Have  heard  the  trumpet's  blast. 
Shame  on  the  false  Etruscan 

Who  lingers  in  his  home, 
When  Porsena  of  Clusium 

Is  on  the  march  for  Rome. 
159 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

The  horsemen  and  the  footmen 

Are  pouring  in  amain 
From  many  a  stately  market-place  ; 

From  many  a  fruitful  plain  ; 
From  many  a  lonely  hamlet, 

Which,  hid  by  beech  and  pine, 
Like  an  eagle's  nest,  hangs  on  the  crest 

Of  purple  Apennine  ; 

From  lordly  Volaterrae, 

Where  scowls  the  far-famed  hold 
Piled  by  the  hands  of  giants 

For  godlike  kings  of  old  ; 
From  seagirt  Populonia, 

Whose  sentinels  descry 
Sardinia's  snowy  mountain-tops 

Fringing  the  southern  sky  ; 

From  the  proud  mart  of  Pisae, 

Queen  of  the  western  waves. 
Where  ride  Massilia's  triremes 

Heavy  with  fair-haired  slaves  ; 
From  where  sweet  Clanis  wanders 

Through  corn  and  vines  and  flowers  ; 
From  where  Cortona  lifts  to  heaven 

Her  diadem  of  towers. 
i6o 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Tall  are  the  oaks  whose  acorns 

Drop  in  dark  Auser's  rill  ; 
Fat  are  the  stags  that  champ  the  boughs 

Of  the  Ciminian  hill ; 
Beyond  all  streams  Clitumnus 

Is  to  the  herdsman  dear  ; 
Best  of  all  pools  the  fowler  loves 

The  great  Volsinian  mere. 

But  now  no  stroke  of  woodman 

Is  heard  by  Auser's  rill ; 
No  hunter  tracks  the  stag's  green  path 

Up  the  Ciminian  hill  ; 
Unwatched  along  Clitumnus 

Grazes  the  milk-white  steer  : 
Unharmed  the  water  fowl  may  dip 

In  the  Volsinian  mere. 

The  harvests  of  Arretium, 

This  year,  old  men  shall  reap, 
This  year,  young  boys  in  Umbro 

Shall  plunge  the  struggling  sheep  ; 
And  in  the  vats  of  Luna, 

This  year,  the  must  shall  foam 
Round  the  white  feet  of  laughing  girls 

Whose  sires  have  marched  to  Rome. 

l6l  L 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

There  be  thirty  chosen  prophets, 

The  wisest  of  the  land, 
Who  alway  by  Lars  Porsena 

Both  morn  and  evening  stand  : 
Evening  and  morn  the  Thirty 

Have  turned  the  verses  o'er, 
Traced  from  the  right  on  Hnen  white 

By  mighty  seers  of  yore. 

And  with  one  voice  the  Thirty 

Have  their  glad  answer  given  : 
"  Go  forth,  go  forth,  Lars  Porsena  ; 

Go  forth,  beloved  of  Heaven  ; 
Go,  and  return  in  glory 

To  Clusium's  royal  dome  ; 
And  hang  round  Nurscia's  altars 

The  golden  shields  of  Rome." 

And  now  hath  every  city 

Sent  up  her  tale  of  men  ; 
The  foot  are  fourscore  thousand. 

The  horse  are  thousands  ten  : 
Before  the  gates  of  Sutrium 

Is  met  the  great  array. 
A  proud  man  was  Lars  Porsena 

Upon  the  trysting  day. 
162 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

For  all  the  Etruscan  armies 

Were  ranged  beneath  his  eye, 
And  many  a  banished  Roman, 

And  many  a  stout  ally  ; 
And  with  a  mighty  following 

To  join  the  muster  came 
The  Tusculan  Mamilius, 

Prince  of  the  Latian  name. 

But  by  the  yellow  Tiber 

Was  tumult  and  affright  : 
From  all  the  spacious  champaign 

To  Rome  men  took  their  flight. 
A  mile  around  the  city, 

The  throng  stopped  up  the  ways  ; 
A  fearful  sight  it  was  to  see 

Through  two  long  nights  and  days. 

For  aged  folks  on  crutches. 

And  women  great  with  child, 
And  mothers  sobbing  over  babes 

That  clung  to  them  and  smiled 
And  sick  men  borne  in  litters 

High  on  the  necks  of  slaves. 
And  troops  of  sun-burned  husbandmen 

With  reaping-hooks  and  staves. 
163 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

And  droves  of  mules  and  asses 

Laden  with  skins  of  wine, 
And  endless  flocks  of  goats  and  sheep, 

And  endless  herds  of  kine. 
And  endless  trains  of  wagons 

That  creaked  beneath  the  weight 
Of  corn-sacks  and  of  household  goods. 

Choked  every  roaring  gate. 

Now,  from  the  rock  Tarpeian, 

Could  the  wan  burghers  spy 
The  line  of  blazing  villages 

Red  in  the  midnight  sky. 
The  Fathers  of  the  City, 

They  sat  all  night  and  day. 
For  every  hour  some  horseman  came 

With  tidings  of  dismay. 

To  eastward  and  to  westward 

Have  spread  the  Tuscan  bands ; 
Nor  house,  nor  fence,  nor  dovecote 

In  Crustumerium  stands. 
Verbenna  down  to  Ostia 

Hath  wasted  all  the  plain  ; 
Astur  hath  stormed  Janiculum, 

And  the  stout  guards  are  slain. 
164 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


I  wis,  in  all  the  Senate, 

There  was  no  heart  so  bold, 
But  sore  it  ached  and  fast  it  beat. 

When  that  ill  news  was  told. 
Forthwith  up  rose  the  Consul, 

Up  rose  the  Fathers  all  ; 
In  haste  they  girded  up  their  gowns. 

And  hied  them  to  the  wall. 

They  held  a  council  standing 

Before  the  River-Gate  ; 
Short  time  was  there,  ye  well  may  guess. 

For  musing  or  debate. 
Out  spake  the  Consul  roundly  : 

"  The  bridge  must  straight  go  down  ; 
For,  since  Janiculum  is  lost. 

Nought  else  can  save  the  town." 

Just  then  a  scout  came  flying, 

All  wild  with  haste  and  fear  ; 
"  To  arms  !  to  arms  !  Sir  Consul  : 

Lars  Porsena  is  here." 
On  the  low  hills  to  westward 

The  Consul  fixed  his  eye. 
And  saw  the  swarthy  storm  of  dust 

Rise  fast  along  the  sky. 
165 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

And  nearer  fast  and  nearer 

Doth  the  red  whirlwind  come  ; 
And  louder  still  and  still  more  loud, 
From  underneath  that  rolling  cloud, 
Is  heard  the  trumpet's  war-note  proud, 

The  trampling,  and  the  hum. 
And  plainly  and  more  plainly 

Now  through  the  gloom  appears. 
Far  to  left  and  far  to  right, 
In  broken  gleams  of  dark-blue  light. 
The  long  array  of  helmets  bright, 

The  long  array  of  spears. 

And  plainly  and  more  plainly 

Above  that  gliminering  line. 
Now  might  ye  see  the  banners 

Of  twelve  fair  cities  shine  ; 
But  the  banner  of  proud  Clusium 

Was  highest  of  them  all. 
The  terror  of  the  Umbrian, 

The  terror  of  the  Gaul. 

And  plainly  and  more  plainly. 
Now  might  the  burghers  know, 

By  port  and  vest,  by  horse  and  crest 
Each  warlike  Lucumo. 
i66 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


There  Cilnius  of  Arretium 

On  his  fleet  roan  was  seen  ; 
And  Astur  of  the  fourfold  shield, 
Girt  with  the  brand  none  else  may  wield, 
Tolumnius  with  the  belt  of  gold, 
And  dark  Verbenna  from  the  hold 

By  reedy  Thrasymene. 


Fast  by  the  royal  standard, 

O'erlooking  all  the  war, 
Lars  Porsena  of  Clusium 

Sat  in  his  ivory  car. 
By  the  right  wheel  rode  Mamilius, 

Prince  of  the  Latian  name  ; 
And  by  the  left  false  Sextus, 

That  wrought  the  deed  of  shame. 


But  when  the  face  of  Sextus 

Was  seen  among  the  foes, 
A  yell  that  rent  the  firmament 

From  all  the  towns  arose. 
On  the  house-tops  was  no  woman 

But  spat  towards  him  and  hissed, 
No  child  but  screamed  out  curses, 

And  shook  its  little  fist. 
167 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


But  the  Consul's  brow  was  sad, 

And  the  Consul's  speech  was  low, 
And  darkly  looked  he  at  the  wall, 

And  darkly  at  the  foe. 
"Their  van  will  be  upon  us 

Before  the  bridge  goes  down  ; 
And  if  they  once  may  win  the  bridge. 

What  hope  to  save  the  town?" 

Then  out  spake  brave  Horatius, 

The  Captain  of  the  Gate  : 
"  To  every  man  upon  this  earth 

Death  cometh  soon  or  late. 
And  how  can  a  man  die  better 

Than  facing  fearful  odds. 
For  the  ashes  of  his  fathers. 

And  the  temples  of  his  Gods, 

"  And  for  the  tender  mother 

Who  dandled  him  to  rest. 
And  for  the  wife  who  nurses 

His  baby  at  her  breast. 
And  for  the  holy  maidens 

Who  feed  the  eternal  flame. 
To  save  them  from  false  Sextus 

That  wrought  the  deed  of  shame? 
i68 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

"  Hew  down  the  bridge,  Sir  Consul, 

With  all  the  speed  ye  may  ; 
I,  with  two  more  to  help  me, 

Will  hold  the  foe  in  play. 
In  yon  strait  path  a  thousand 

May  well  be  stopped  by  three. 
Now  who  will  stand  on  either  hand, 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  me  ?  " 

Then  out  spake  Spurius  Lartius ; 

A  Ramnian  proud  was  he  : 
"Lo,  I  will  stand  at  thy  right  hand, 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee." 
And  out  spake  strong  Herminius  ; 

Of  Titian  blood  was  he  : 
"  I  will  abide  on  thy  left  side. 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee." 

"  Horatius,"  quoth  the  Consul, 

'*  As  thou  sayest,  so  let  it  be." 
And  straight  against  that  great  array 

Forth  went  the  dauntless  Three. 
For  Romans  in  Rome's  quarrel 

Spared  neither  land  nor  gold, 
Nor  son  nor  wife,  nor  limb  nor  life, 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 
169 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Then  none  was  for  a  party  ; 

Then  all  were  for  the  state  ; 
Then  the  great  man  helped  the  poor, 

And  the  poor  man  loved  the  great : 
Then  lands  were  fairly  portioned  ! 

Then  spoils  were  fairly  sold  : 
The  Romans  were  like  brothers 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

Now  Roman  is  to  Roman 

More  hateful  than  a  foe, 
And  the  Tribunes  beard  the  high. 

And  the  Fathers  grind  the  low. 
As  we  wax  hot  in  faction, 

In  battle  we  wax  cold  : 
Wherefore  men  fight  not  as  they  fought 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

Now  while  the  Three  were  tightening 

Their  harness  on  their  backs. 
The  Consul  was  the  foremost  man 

To  take  in  hand  an  axe  : 
And  Fathers  mixed  with  Commons 

Seized  hatchet,  bar,  and  crow, 
And  smote  upon  the  planks  above. 

And  loosed  the  props  below. 
170 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

Meanwhile  the  Tuscan  army. 

Right  glorious  to  behold, 
Came  flashing  back  the  noonday  light. 
Rank  behind  rank,  like  surges  bright 

Of  a  broad  sea  of  gold. 
Four  hundred  trumpets  sounded 

A  peal  of  warlike  glee. 
As  that  great  host,  with  measured  tread 
And  spears  advanced,  and  ensigns  spread, 
Rolled  slowly  towards  the  bridge's  head. 

Where  stood  the  dauntless  Three. 

The  Three  stood  calm  and  silent. 

And  looked  upon  the  foes. 
And  a  great  shout  of  laughter 

From  all  the  vanguard  rose  : 
And  forth  three  chiefs  came  spurring 

Before  that  deep  array  ; 
To  earth  they  sprang,  their  swords  they  drew 
And  lifted  high  their  shields,  and  flew 

To  win  the  narrow  way  ; 

Annus  from  green  Tifernum, 

Lord  of  the  Hill  of  Vines  : 
And  Seius,  whose  eight  hundred  slaves 

Sicken  in  Ilva's  mines ; 

171 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

And  Picus,  long  to  Glusium 

Vassal  in  peace  and  war, 
Who  led  to  fight  his  Umbrian  powers 
From  that  grey  crag  where,  girt  with  towers, 
The  fortress  of  Nequinum  lowers 

O'er  the  pale  waves  of  Nar. 

Stout  Lartius  hurled  down  Annus 

Into  the  stream  beneath  : 
Herminius  struck  at  Seius, 

And  clove  him  to  the  teeth  : 
At  Picus  brave  Horatius 

Darted  one  fiery  thrust ; 
And  the  proud  Umbrian's  gilded  arms 

Clashed  in  the  bloody  dust. 

Then  Ocnus  of  Falerii 

Rushed  on  the  Roman  Three  ; 
And  Lausulus  of  Urgo, 

The  rover  of  the  sea  ; 
And  Aruns  of  Volsinium, 

Who  slew  the  great  wild  boar. 
The  great  wild  boar  that  had  his  den 
Amidst  the  reeds  of  Cosa's  fen. 
And  wasted  fields,  and  slaughtered  men. 

Along  Albinia's  shore. 
172 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

Herminius  smote  down  Aruns : 

Lartius  laid  Ocnus  low  : 
Right  to  the  heart  of  Lausulus 

Horatius  sent  a  blow. 
"  Lie  there,"  he  cried,  "  fell  pirate  ! 

No  more,  aghast  and  pale. 
From  Ostia's  walls  the  crowd  shall  mark 
The  track  of  thy  destroying  bark. 
No  more  Campania's  hinds  shall  fly 
To  woods  and  caverns  when  they  spy 

Thy  thrice  accursed  sail." 

But  now  no  sound  of  laughter 

Was  heard  among  the  foes. 
A  wild  and  wrathful  clamour 

From  all  the  vanguard  rose. 
Six  spears'  length  from  the  entrance 

Halted  that  deep  array, 
And  for  a  space  no  man  came  forth 

To  win  the  narrow  way. 

But  hark  !  the  cry  is  Astur  : 

And  lo  !  the  ranks  divide  ; 
And  the  great  Lord  of  Luna 

Comes  with   his  stately  stride. 
Upon  his  ample  shoulders 

Clangs  loud  the  fourfold  shield, 
173 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

And  in  his  hand  he  shakes  the  brand 
Which  none  but  he  can  wield. 

He  smiled  on  those  bold  Romans 

A  smile  serene  and  high  ; 
He  eyed  the  flinching  Tuscans, 

And  scorn  was  in  his  eye. 
Quoth  he,  "The  she-wolf's  litter 

Stand  savagely  at  bay  : 
But  will  ye  dare  to  follow. 

If  Astur  clears  the  way?" 

Then,  whirling  up  his  broadsword 

With  both  hands  to  the  height, 
He  rushed  against   Horatius, 

And  smote  with  all  his  might. 
With  shield  and  blade  Horatius 

Right  deftly  turned  the  blow. 
The  blow,  though  turned,  came  yet  too   nigh  ; 
It  missed  his  helm,  but  gashed  his  thigh  : 
The  Tuscans  raised  a  joyful  cry 

To    see  the  red  blood  flow. 

He  reeled,  and  on  Herminius 
He  leaned  one  breathing-space  ; 

Then,  like  a  wild  cat  mad  with  wounds. 
Sprang  right  at  Astur's  face  : 
174 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

Through  teeth,  and  skull,  and  helmet 

So  fierce  a  thrust  he  sped. 
The  good  sword  stood  a  hand-breadth  out 

Behind  the  Tuscan's  head. 

And  the  great  Lord  of  Luna 

Fell  at  that  deadly  stroke, 
As  falls  on  Mount  Alvernus 

A  thunder-smitten  oak. 
Far  o'er  the  crashing  forest 

The  giant  arms  lie  spread  ; 
And  the  pale  augurs,  muttering  low. 

Gaze  on  the  blasted  head. 

On  Astur's  throat  Horatius 

Right  firmly  pressed  his  heel. 
And  thrice  and  four  times  tugged  amain, 

Ere  he  wrenched  out  the  steel. 
"And  see,"  he  cried,  "the  welcome. 

Fair  guests,  that  waits  you  here  ! 
What  noble  Lucumo  comes  next 

To  taste  our  Roman  cheer  ? " 

But  at  his  haughty  challenge 

A  sullen  murmur  ran, 
Mingled  of  wrath,  and  shame,  and  dread, 

Along  that  glittering  van. 

175 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


There  lacked  not  men  of  prowess, 

Nor  men  of  lordly  race  ; 
For  all  Etruria's  noblest 

Were  round  the  fatal  place. 

But  all  Etruria's  noblest 

Felt  their  hearts  sink  to  see 
On  the  earth  the  bloody  corpses, 

In  the  path  the  dauntless  Three  : 
And,  from  the  ghastly  entrance 

Where  those  bold  Romans  stood, 
All  shrank,  like  boys  who  unaware. 
Ranging  the  woods  to  start  a  hare, 
Come  to  the  mouth  of  the  dark  lair 
Where,  growling  low,  a  fierce  old  bear 

Lies  amidst  bones  and  blood. 

Was  none  who  would  be  foremost 

To  lead  such  dire  attack  : 
But  those  behind  cried  "  Forward  ! " 

And  those  before  cried  "  Back  ! " 
And  backward  now  and  forward 

Wavers  the  deep  array  ; 
And  on  the  tossing  sea  of  steel, 
To  and  fro  the  standards  reel  ; 
And  the  victorious  trumpet-peal 

Dies  fitfully  away. 
176 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Yet  one  man  for  one  moment 

Stood  out  before  the  crowd  ; 
Well  known  was  he  to  all  the  Three, 

And  they  gave  him  greeting  loud, 
"  Now  welcome,  welcome,  Sextus  ! 

Now  welcome  to  thy  home  ! 
Why  dost  thou  stay,  and  turn  away  ? 

Here  lies  the  road  to  Rome." 

Thrice  looked  he  at  the  city  ; 

Thrice  looked  he  at  the  dead  ; 
And  thrice  came  on  in  fury. 

And  thrice  turned  back  in  dread  : 
And,  white  with  fear  and  hatred, 

Scowled  at  the  narrow  way 
Where,  wallowing  in  a  pool  of  blood. 

The  bravest  Tuscans  lay. 

But  meanwhile  axe  and  lever 

Have  manfully  been  plied  ; 
And  now  the  bridge  hangs  tottering 

Above  the  boiling  tide. 
"  Come  back,  come  back,  Horatius  !  '* 

Loud  cried  the  Fathers  all 
"  Back,  Lartius  !  back,  Herminius  ! 

Back,  ere  the  ruin  fall  ! " 

177  M 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

Back  darted  Spurius  Lartius  ; 

Herminius  darted  back  : 
And,  as  they  passed,  beneath  their  feet 

They  felt  the  timbers  crack. 
But  when  they  turned  their  faces, 

And  on  the  farther  shore 
Saw  brave  Horatius  stand  alone. 

They  would  have  crossed  once  more. 

But  with  a  crash  like  thunder 

Fell  every  loosened  beam. 
And,  like  a  dam,  the  mighty  wreck 

Lay  right  athwart  the  stream  : 
And  a  long  shout  of  triumph 

Rose  from  the  walls  of  Rome, 
As  to  the  highest  turret-tops 

Was  splashed  the  yellow  foam. 

And,  like  a  horse  unbroken 

When  first  he  feels  the  rein. 
The  furious  river  struggled  hard. 

And  tossed  his  tawny  mane, 
And  burst  the  curb,  and  bounded, 

Rejoicing  to  be  free, 
And  whirling  down,  in  fierce  career. 
Battlement,  and  plank,  and  pier. 

Rushed  headlong  to  the  sea. 
178 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

Alone  stood  brave  Horatius, 

But  constant  still  in  mind  ; 
Thrice  thirty  thousand  foes  before, 

And  the  broad  flood  behind. 
"  Down  with  him  !  "  cried  false  Sextus, 

With  a  smile  on  his  pale  face. 
"Now  yield  thee,"  cried  Lars  Porsena, 

"Now  yield  thee  to  our  grace." 

Round  turned  he,  as  not  deigning 

Those  craven  ranks  to  see  ; 
Nought  spake  he  to  Lars  Porsena, 

To  Sextus  nought  spake  he  ! 
But  he  saw  on  Palatinus 

The  white  porch  of  his  home  ; 
And  he  spake  to  the  noble  river 

That  rolls  by  the  towers  of  Rome. 

"  Oh,  Tiber  !   father  Tiber  ! 

To  whom  the  Romans  pray, 
A  Roman's  life,  a  Roman's  arms. 

Take  thou  in  charge  this  day  ! " 
So  he  spake,  and  speaking  sheathed 

The  good  sword  by  his  side. 
And  with  his  harness  on  his  back. 

Plunged  headlong  in  the  tide. 
179 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

No  sound  of  joy  or  sorrow 

Was  heard  from  either  bank  ; 
But  friends  and  foes  in  dumb  surprise, 
With  parted  Hps  and  straining  eyes, 

Stood  gazing  where  he  sank  ; 
And  when  above  the  surges 

They  saw  his  crest  appear, 
AH  Rome  sent  forth  a  rapturous  cry, 
And  even  the  ranks  of  Tuscany 

Could  scarce  forbear  to  cheer. 

But  fiercely  ran  the  current, 

Swollen  high  by  months  of  rain  : 
And  fast  his  blood  was  flowing  ; 

And  he  was  sore  in  pain, 
And  heavy  with  his  armour. 

And  spent  with  changing  blows  ; 
And  oft  they  thought  him  sinking, 

But  still  again  he  rose. 

Never,  I  ween,  did  swimmer, 

In  such  an  evil  case. 
Struggle  through  such  a  raging  flood 

Safe  to  the  landing  place  : 
But  his  limbs  were  borne  up  bravely 

By  the  brave  heart  within, 
i8o 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

And  our  good  father  Tiber 
Bore  bravely  up  his  chin.' 

"Curse  on  him  !"  quoth  false  Sextus  ; 

"  Will  not  the  villain  drown  ? 
But  for  this  stay,  ere  close  of  day 

We  should  have  sacked  the  town  ! 
"  Heaven  help  him  ! "  quoth  Lars  Porsena, 

"  And  bring  him  safe  to  shore  ; 
For  such  a  gallant  feat  of  arms 

Was  never  seen  before." 

And  now  he  feels  the  bottom  ; 

Now  on  dry  earth  he  stands ; 
Now  round  him  throng  the  Fathers 

To  press  his  gory  hands  ; 
And  now,  with  shouts  and  clapping, 

And  noise  of  weeping  loud. 
He  enters  through  the  River-Gate, 

Borne  by  the  joyous  crowd. 


•  "  Our  ladye  bare  upp  her  chinne." 

Ballad  of  Childe  Waters. 

"Never  heavier  man  and  horse 
Stemmed  a  midnight  torrent's  force ; 

Yet,  through  good  heart  and  our  Lady's  grace, 
At  length  he  gained  the  landing  place." 

Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  I. 

I8l 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

They  gave  him  of  the  corn-land, 

That  was  of  pubHc  right, 
As  much  as  two  strong  oxen 

Could  plough  from  morn  till  night ; 
And  they  made  a  molten  image, 

And  set  it  up  on  high. 
And  there  it  stands  unto  this  day 

To  witness  if  I  lie. 

It  stands  in  the  Comitium, 

Plain  for  all  folk  to  see  ; 
Horatius  in  his  harness, 

Halting  upon  one  knee  : 
And  underneath  is  written. 

In  letters  all  of  gold. 
How  valiantly  he  kept  the  bridge 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

And  still  his  name  sounds  stirring 

Unto  the  men  of  Rome, 
As  the  trumpet-blast  that  cries  to  them 

To  charge  the  Volscian  home  ; 
And  wives  still  pray  to  Juno 

For  boys  with  hearts  as  bold 
As  his  who  kept  the  bridge  so  well 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 
182 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

And  in  the  nights  of  winter, 

When  the  cold  north  winds  blow, 
And  the  long  howling  of  the  wolves 

Is  heard  amidst  the  snow  ; 
When  round  the  lonely  cottage 

Roars  loud  the  tempest's  din, 
And  the  good  logs  of  Algidus 

Roar  louder  yet  within  ; 

When  the  oldest  cask  is  opened, 

And  the  largest  lamp  is  lit ; 
When  the  chestnuts  glow  in  the  embers 

And  the  kid  turns  on  the  spit ; 
When  young  and  old  in  circle 

Around  the  firebrands  close  ; 
When  the  girls  are  weaving  baskets, 

And  the  lads  are  shaping  bows  ; 

When  the  goodman  mends  his  armour. 

And  trims  his  helmet's  plume  ; 
When  the  goodwife's  shuttle  merrily 

Goes  flashing  through  the  loom  ; 
With  weeping  and  with  laughter 

Still  is  the  story  told, 
How  well  Horatius  kept  the  bridge 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

Lord  Macaulay. 
183 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  SENNACHERIB 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  a  wolf  on  the  fold. 
And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  in  purple  and  gold, 
And   the   sheen   of   their   spears   was   like   stars  on 

the  sea, 
When  the  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep  Galilee. 

Like    the    leaves    of    the    forest    when   Summer  is 

green, 
That  host  with  their  banners  at  sunset  were  seen, 
Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when   Autumn   hath 

blown, 
That     host    on     the     morrow     lay    withered    and 

strewn. 

For  the  Angel   of   Death   spread  his  wings  on   the 

blast, 
And  breathed  in  the  face  of  the  foe  as  he  passed  ; 
And  the   eyes  of    the   sleepers  waxed   deadly    and 

chill. 
And    their   hearts   but    once   heaved,  and   for   ever 

grew  still  ! 

184 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

And  there  lay  the  steed  with  his  nostrils  all   wide. 
But  through  it  there  rolled  not  the  breath   of  his 

pride, 
And  the  foam  of  his  gasping  lay  white  on  the  turf. 
And  cold  as  the  spray  of  the  rock-beating  surf. 

And  there  lay  the  rider  distorted  and  pale, 

With   the    dew   on   his   brow,  and    the    rust  on  his 

mail  ; 
And  the  tents  were  all  silent,  the  banners  alone, 
The  lances  uplifted,  the  trumpet   unblown. 

And  the  widows  of  Ashur  are  loud  in  their  wail. 
And  the  idols  are  broke  in  the  temple  of  Baal  ; 
And   the    might   of    the    Gentile,    unsmote    by    the 

sword. 
Hath  melted  like  snow  in  the  glance  of   the  Lord  ! 

Lord  Byron. 


185 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


THE   DUEL  OF  MENELAUS  AND  PARIS 

The  Greek  and  Trojan  armies  being  ready  to 
engage,  a  single  combat  is  agreed  ujjon  betzueen 
Meneldus  and  Paris  for  the  determination  of  the 
zvar.  The  duel  ensues  ;  zvherein  Paris  being  over- 
done, he  is  snatched  azvay  on  a  cloud  by  Venus. 

With  eyes  averted  Hector  hastes  to  turn 
The  lots  of  fight  and  shakes  the  brazen  urn. 
Then,  Paris,  thine  leap'd  forth  ;  by  fatal  chance 
Ordain'd  the  first  to  whirl  the  weighty  lance. 
Both  armies  sat  the  combat  to  survey, 
Beside  each  chief  his  azure  armour  lay. 
And  round  the  lists  the  generous  coursers  neigh. 
The  beauteous  warrior  now  arrays  for  fight. 
In  gilded  arms  magnificently  bright  : 
The  purple  cuishes  clasp  his  thighs  around, 
With  flowers  adorn'd,  with  silver  buckles  bound  : 
Lycaon's  corslet  his  fair  body  dress'd, 
Braced  in  and  fitted  to  his  softer  breast ; 
A  radiant  baldric,  o'er  his  shoulder  tied, 
Sustain'd  the  sword  that  glitter'd  at  his  side  : 
His  youthful  face  a  polish'd  helm  o'erspread  ; 
The  waving  horse-hair  nodded  on  his  head  ; 
His  figured  shield,  a  shining  orb,  he  takes. 
And  in  his  hand  a  pointed  javelin  shakes. 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

With  equal  speed  and  fired  by  equal  charms, 
The  Spartan  hero  sheathes  his  limbs  in  arms. 

Now  round  the  lists  the  admiring  armies  stand. 
With  javelins  fix'd,  the  Greek  and  Trojan  band. 
Amidst  the  dreadful  vale,  the  chiefs  advance, 
All  pale  with  rage,  and  shake  the  threatening  lance. 
The  Trojan  first  his  shining  javelin  threw, 
Full  on  Atrides'  ringing  shield  it  flew. 
Nor  pierced  the  brazen  orb,  but  with  a  bound 
Leap'd  from  the  buckler,  blunted,  on  the  ground. 
Atrides  then  his  massy  lance  prepares, 
In  act  to  throw,  but  first  prefers  his  prayers  : 

"  Give  me,  great  Jove  !   to  punish  lawless  lust, 
And  lay  the  Trojan  gasping  in  the  dust : 
Destroy  the  aggressor,  aid  my  righteous  cause. 
Avenge  the  breach  of  hospitable  laws  ! 
Let  this  example  future  times  reclaim. 
And  guard  from  wrong  fair  friendship's  holy  name," 
He  said,  and  poised  in  air  the  javelin  sent. 
Through  Paris'  shield  the  forceful  weapon  went, 
His  corslet  pierces,  and  his  garment  rends, 
And  glancing  downward,  near  his  flank  descends. 
The  wary  Trojan,  bending  from  the  blow, 
Eludes  the  death,  and  disappoints  his  foe  : 
But  fierce  Atrides  waved  his  sword,  and  strook 
Full  on  his  casque  :   the  crested  helmet  shook  ; 
The  brittle  steel,  unfaithful  to  his  hand, 
i87 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Broke  short :    the  fragments  glltter'd  on  the  sand. 
The  raging  warrior  to  the  spacious  skies 
Raised  his  upbraiding  voice  and  angry  eyes : 
"Then  is  it  vain  in  Jove  himself  to  trust? 
And  is  it  thus  the  gods  assist  the  just  ? 
When  crimes  provoke  us,  Heaven  success  denies  ; 
The  dart  falls  harmless,  and  the  falchion  flies." 
Furious  he  said,  and  towards  the  Grecian  crew 
(Seized  by  the  crest)  the  unhappy  warrior  drew  ; 
Struggling     he     follow'd,     while     the    embroider'd 

thong 
That  tied  his  helmet,  dragg'd  the  chief  along. 
Then  had  his  ruin  crown'd  Atrides'  joy. 
But  Venus  trembled  for  the  prince  of  Troy  : 
Unseen  she  came,  and  burst  the  golden  band  ; 
And  left  an  empty  helmet  in  his  hand. 
The  casque,  enraged,  amidst  the  Greeks  he  threw  ; 
The  Greeks  with  smiles  the  polished  trophy  view. 
Then,  as  once  more  he  lifts  the  deadly  dart, 
In  thirst  of  vengeance,  at  his  rival's  heart  ; 
The  queen  of  love  her  favoured  champion  shrouds 
(For  gods  can  all  things)  in  a  veil  of  clouds. 
Raised  from  the  field  the  panting  youth  she  led. 
And  gently  laid  him  on  the  bridal  bed, 
With  pleasing  sweets  his  fainting  sense  renews. 
And  all  the  dome  perfumes  with  heavenly  dews. 

Homer. 
l88 


PATRIOTIC  AND 
MISCELLANEOUS 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


"ENGLAND,  MY  ENGLAND  " 

What  have  I  done  for  you, 

England,  my  England  ? 

What  is  there  I  would  not  do, 

England,  my  own  ? 

With  your  glorious  eyes  austere. 

As  the  Lord  were  walking  near 

Whispering  terrible  things  and  dear, 

As  the  Song  on  your  bugles  blown, 

England 

Round  the  world  on  your  bugles  blown  ! 

Where  shall  the  watchful  sun, 

England,  my  England, 

Match  the  master-work  you've  done, 

England,  my  own  ? 

When  shall  he  rejoice  agen. 

Such  a  breed  of  mighty  men. 

As  come  forward,  one  to  ten. 

To  the  Song  on  your  bugles  blown, 

England 

Down  the  years  on  your  bugles  blown  ? 

Ever  the  faith  endures, 
England,  my  England  : — 
Take  and  break  us :  we  are  yours, 
England,  my  own  ! 
191 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Life  is  good  and  joy  runs  high 
Between  English  earth   and  sky  : 
Death  is  Death  ;  but  we  shall  die 
To  the  Song  on  your  bugles  blown, 

England 

To  the  stars  on  your  bugles  blown  ! 

They  call  you  proud  and  hard, 

England,  my  England, 

You  with  worlds  to  watch  and  ward, 

England,  my  own  ! 

You  whose  mailed  hand  keeps  the  keys 

Of  such  teeming  destinies, 

You  could  know  nor  dread  nor  ease 

Were  the  Song  on  your  bugles  blown, 

England 

Round  the  pit  on  your  bugles  blown  ! 

Mother  of  Ships  whose  might, 

England,  my  England, 

Is  the  fierce  old  Sea's  delight, 

England,  my  own. 

Chosen  daughter  of  the  Lord, 

Spouse-in-Chief  of  the  ancient  Sword, 

There's  the  menace  of  the  Word 

In  the  Song  on  your  bugles  blown, 

England 

Out  of  Heaven  on  your  bugles  blown  ! 
IV.  £.  Henley. 
192 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


" ENGLAND " 

England,  with  all  thy  faults,  I  love  thee  still — 
My  country  ;  and,  while  yet  a  nook  is  left 
Where  English  minds  and  manners  may  be  found, 
Shall   be   constrained   to    love    thee.     Though    thy 

clime 
Be  fickle,  and  thy  year  most  part  deformed 
With  dripping  rains,  or  withered  by  a  frost, 
I  would  not  yet  exchange  thy  sullen  skies, 
And  fields  without  a  flower,  for  warmer  France 
With  all  her  vines  :  nor  for  Ausonia's  groves 
Of  golden  fruitage,  and  her  myrtle  bowers. 
To  shake  thy  senate  and  from  heights  sublime 
Of  patriot  eloquence  to  flash  down  fire 
Upon  thy  foes,  was  never  meant  my  task  : 
But  I  can  feel  thy  fortunes,  and  partake 
Thy  joys  and  sorrows,  with  as  true  a  heart 
As  any  thunderer  there.     And  I  can  feel 
Thy  follies,  too  ;  and  with  a  just  disdain 
Frown  at  effeminates,  whose  very  looks 
Reflect  dishonour  on  the  land  I  love 

193  N 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

How,  in  the  name  of  soldiership  and  sense, 
Should    England    prosper,    when    such    things,    as 

smooth 
And  tender  as  a  girl,  all  essenc'd  o'er 
With  odours,  and  as  profligate  as  sweet ; 
Who  sell  their  laurel  for  a  myrtle  wreath. 
And   love   when   they  should   fight ;  when   such  as 

these 
Presume  to  lay  their  hand  upon  the  ark 
Of  her  magnificent  and  awful  cause  ? 
Time  was  when  it  was  praise  and  boast  enough 
In  every  clime,  and  travel  where  we  might. 
That  we  were  born  her  children,    Praise  enough 
To  fill  the  ambition  of  a  private  man. 
That  Chatham's  language  was  his  mother  tongue 
And  Wolfe's  great  name  compatriot  with  his  own. 

W,  Coxvper. 


194 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


RULE,  BRITANNIA! 

When  Britain  first  at  Heaven's  command 
Arose  from  out  the  azure  main, 
This  was  the  charter  of  her  land. 
And  guardian  angels  sang  the  strain  : 

Rule  Britannia  !     Britannia  rules  the  waves  I 
Britons  never  shall  be  slaves ! 

The  nations  not  so  blest  as  thee 
Must  in  their  turn  to  tyrants  fall. 
Whilst  thou  shalt  flourish  great  and  free — 
The  dread  and  envy  of  them  all  ! 

Still  more  majestic  shalt  thou  rise. 
More  dreadful  from  each  foreign  stroke  ; 
As  the  last  blast  which  tears  thy  skies 
Serves  but  to  root  thy  native  oak. 

Thee  haughty  tyrants  ne'er  shall  tame  ; 
All  their  attempts  to  bend  thee  down 
Will  but  arouse  thy  generous  flame, 
And  work  their  woe  and  thy  renown. 
195 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

To  thee  belongs  the  rural  reign  ; 
Thy  cities  shall  with  commerce  shine  ; 
All  thine  shall  be  the  subject  main, 
And  every  shore  it  circles  thine. 

The  Muses,  still  with  Freedom  found, 
Shall  to  thy  happy  coast  repair  ; 
Blest  Isle  with  matchless  beauty  crown'd, 
And  manly  hearts  to  guard  the  fair  : — 

Rule,  Britannia  !     Britannia  rules  the  waves  ! 
Britons  never  shall  be  slaves  ! 

James  Thomson. 


196 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


HEARTS  OF  OAK 

Come,  cheer  up,  my  lads,  'tis  to  glory  we  steer. 
To  add  something  more  to  this  wonderful  year. 
To  honour  we  call  you,  not  press  you  like  slaves, 
For  who  are  so  free  as  the  sons  of  the  waves  ? 
Hearts  of  oak  are  our  ships,  hearts  of  oak  are  our 
men, 

We  always  are  ready. 

Steady  boys,  steady. 
We'll  fight,  and  we'll  conquer  again  and  again. 

We  ne'er  see  our  foes  but  we  wish  them  to  stay. 
They  never  see  us  but  they  wish  us  away  ; 
If  they  run,  why,  we  follow,  and  run  them  ashore, 
For  if  they  won't  fight  us  we  cannot  do  more. 
Hearts  of  oak  are  our  ships,  hearts  of  oak  are  our 
men. 

We  always  are  ready, 

Steady  boys,  steady. 
We'll  fight,  and  we'll  conquer  again  and  again. 
197 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

Still    Britain    shall    triumph,  her  ships   plough   the 

sea, 
Her  standard  be  justice,  her  watchword  "  Be  Free," 
Then,  cheer  up,  my  lads,   with  one  heart   let  us 

sing 
Our  soldiers,  our  sailors,  our  statesmen,  our  king. 
Hearts  of  oak  are  our  ships,  hearts  of  oak  are  our 
men 

We  always  are  ready. 
Steady  boys,  steady. 
We'll  fight  and  we'll  conquer  again  and  again. 

David  Garrick. 


198 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


THE  HOMES  OF  ENGLAND 

The  stately  homes  of  England, 

How  beautiful  they  stand 
Amidst  their  tall  ancestral  trees 

O'er  all  the  pleasant  land. 
The  deer  across  their  greensward  bound 

Through  shade  and  sunny  gleam  ; 
And  the  swan  glides  past  them  with  the  sound 

Of  some  rejoicing  stream. 


The  merry  homes  of  England  ! 

Around  their  hearths  by  night 
What  gladsome  looks  of  household  love 

Meet  in  the  ruddy  light ! 
There  woman's  voice  flows  forth  in  song, 

Or  childhood's  tale  is  told, 
Or  lips  move  tunefully  along 

Some  glorious  page  of  old. 
199 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

The  blessed  homes  of  England  ! 

How  softly  on  their  bowers 
Is  laid  the  holy  quietness 

That  breathes  from  Sabbath  hours  ! 
Solemn,  yet  sweet,  the  church-bell's  chime 

Floats  through  their  woods  at  morn  ; 
All  other  sounds  in  that  still  time 

Of  breeze  and  leaf  are  born. 

The  cottage  homes  of  England  ! 

By  thousands  on  her  plains. 
They  are  smiling  o'er  the  silvery  brooks, 

And  round  the  hamlet  fanes. 
Through  glowing  orchards  forth  they  peep, 

Each  from  its  nook  of  leaves  ; 
And  fearless  there  the  lowly  sleep 

As  the  birds  beneath  their  eaves. 

The  free,  fair  homes  of  England  ! 

Long,  long  in  hut  and  hall 
May  hearts  of  native  proof  be  reared 

To  guard  each  hallowed  wall  ! 
And  green  for  ever  be  the  groves, 

And  bright  the  flowery  sod. 
Where  first  the  child's  glad  spirit  loves 

Its  country  and  its  God  ! 

Felicia  D.  Hemans. 
200 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


HERE'S  A  HEALTH 

Here's  a  health  unto  His  Majesty 
With  a  fa,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la  ! 
Confusion  to  his  enemies, 
With  a  fa,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la  ! 
And  he  that  will  not  drink  his  health, 
I  wish  him  neither  wit  nor  wealth, 
Nor  yet  a  rope  to  hang  himself,  ! 
With  a  fa,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la  ! 

Anonymous 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


MEN  OF  ENGLAND 

Men  of  England  !  who  inherit 

Rights  that  cost  your  sires  their  blood  ! 
Men  whose  undegenerate  spirit, 

Has  been  proved  on  land  and  flood — 

By  the  foes  ye've  fought,  uncounted, 
By  the  glorious  deeds  ye've  done, 

Trophies  captured — breaches  mounted. 
Navies  conquered — kingdoms  won. 

Yet  remember,  England  gathers. 
Hence  but  fruitless  wreaths  of  fame, 

If  the  valour  of  your  fathers 
Glow  not  in  your  hearts  the  same. 

What  are  monuments  of  bravery. 
Where  no  public  virtues  bloom  ? 

What  avail  in  lands  of  slavery 
Trophied  temples,  arch  and  tomb? 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

Pageants  !    Let  the  world  revere  us 
For  our  people's  rights  and  laws, 

And  the  breast  of  civic  heroes 
Bared  in  Freedom's  holy  cause. 

Yours  are  Hampden's,  Russell's  glory, 
Sydney's  matchless  shade  is  yours, — 

Martyrs  in  heroic  story, 
Worth  a  thousand  Agincourts! 

We're  the  sons  of  sires  that  baffled 

Crown  and  mitred  tyranny  : — 
They  defied  the  field  and  scaffold 

For  their  birthrights — so  will  we  ! 

Thomas  Campbell. 


203 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


YE  MARINERS  OF  ENGLAND 

Ye  jTiariners  of  England  ! 

That  guard  our  native  seas  ; 

Whose  flag  has  braved  a  thousand  years 

The  battle  and  the  breeze  ! 

Your  glorious  standard  launch  again 

To  match  another  foe  ! 

And  sweep  through  the  deep, 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow ; 

While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  spirit  of  your  fathers 
Shall  start  from  every  wave ! 
For  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  fame 
And  ocean  was  their  grave ; 
Where  Blake  and  mighty  Nelson  fell 
Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow, 
As  ye  sweep  through  the  deep, 
While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow  ; 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long. 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 
204 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Britannia  needs  no  bulwarks, 

No  towers  along  the  steep, 

Her  march  is  o'er  the  mountain  waves, 

Her  home  is  on  the  deep. 

With  thunders  from  her  native  oak. 

She  quells  the  floods  below. 

As  they  roar  on  the  shore. 

When  the  stormy  winds  do   blow  ; 

When  the  battle  rages  loud  and  ,long. 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  meteor  flag  of  England 

Shall  yet  teriific  burn  : 

Till  danger's  troubled  night  depart 

And  the  star  of  peace  return. 

Then,  then,  ye  ocean  warriors  ! 

Our  song  and  feast  shall  flow 

To  the  fame  of  your  name. 

When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow  ; 

When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more. 

And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


205 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


PIBROCH  OF  DONUIL  DHU 

Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

Pibroch  of  Donuil, 
Wake  thy  wild  voice  anew, 

Summon  Clan-Conuil. 
Come  away,  come  away. 

Hark  to  the  summons  ! 
Come  in  your  war  array, 

Gentles  and  commons ! 


Come  from  deep  glen,  and 

From  mountain  so  rocky  ; 
The  war-pipe  and  pennon 

Are  at  Inverlochy. 
Come  every  hill-plaid  and 

True  heart  that  wears  one, 
Come  every  steel  blade,  and 

Strong  hand  that  bears  one. 
206 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Leave  untended  the  herd, 

The  flock  without  shelter  ; 
Leave  the  corpse  uninterr'd, 

The  bride  at  the  altar ; 
Leave  the  deer,  leave  the  steer. 

Leave  nets  and  barges  : 
Come  with  your  fighting  gear, 

Broadswords  and  targes. 

Come  as  the  winds  come,  when 

Forests  are  rended, 
Come  as  the  waves  come,  when 

Navies  are  stranded  : 
Faster  come,  faster  come. 

Faster  and  faster. 
Chief,  vassal,  page  and  groom. 

Tenant  and  master. 

Fast  they  come,  fast  they  come ; 

See  how  they  gather  ! 
Wide  waves  the  eagle  plume, 

Blended  with  heather. 
Cast  your  plaids,  draw  your  blades. 

Forward  each  man  set ; 
Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

Knell  for  the  onset ! 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 

207 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


THE  SOLDIER'S  DREAM 

Our  bugles  sang  truce — for  the  night-cloud  had 
lowered 

And  the  sentinel  stars  set  their  watch  in  the  sky  ; 

And  thousands  had  sunk  on  the  ground  over- 
powered. 

The  weary  to  sleep  and  the  wounded  to  die. 

When  reposing  that  night  on  my  pallet  of  straw, 
By  the  wolf-scaring  fagot  that  guarded  the  slain, 
At  the  dead  of  the  night  a  sweet  vision  I  saw, 
And  thrice  ere  the  morning  I  dreamt  it  again. 

Methought  from  the  battlefield's  dreadful  array, 
Far,  far,  I  had  roamed  on  a  desolate  track  ; 
'Twas  autumn — and  sunshine  arose  on  the  way 
To  the  home  of  my  fathers,  that  welcomes  me  back. 

I  flew  to  the  pleasant  fields  traversed  so  oft 
In    life's    morning    march,  when     my    bosom    was 
young; 

208 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 

I  heard  my  own  mountain-goats  bleating  aloft, 
And  knew  the  sweet   strain   that   the  corn   reapers 
sung. 

Then  pledged  we  the  wine-cup,  and  fondly  I  swore 
From  my  home  and   my  weeping   friends  never  to 

part; 
My  little  ones  kissed  me  a  thousand  times  o'er, 
And  my  wife  sobbed  aloud  in  her  fulness  of  heart. 

"  Stay,    stay    with    us — rest,    thou    art    weary    and 

worn," 
And  fain  was  their  war-broken  soldier  to  stay  ; 
But  sorrow  returned  with  the  dawning  of  morn, 
And  the  voice  on  my  dreaming  ear  melted  away. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


209 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


"THE    POWER    OF    ARMIES    IS    A    VISIBLE 
THING  " 

The  power  of  Armies  is  a  visible  thing, 
Formal,  and  circumscribed  in  time  and  space  ; 
But  who  the   limits  of  that  power  shall  trace 
Which  a  brave  People  into  light  can  bring 
Or  hide,  at  will, — for  freedom  combating 
By  just  revenge  inflamed  ?     No  foot  may  chase, 
No  eye  can  follow,  to  a  fatal  place 
That  power,  that  spirit,  whether  on  the  wing 
Like  the  strong  wind,  or  sleeping  like  the  wind 
Within  its  awful  caves. — From  year  to  year 
Springs  this  indigenous  produce  far  and  near  ; 
No  craft  this  subtle  element  can  bind. 
Rising  like  water  from  the  soil,  to  find 
In  every  nook  a  lip  that  it  may  cheer. 
(1811)  William  Wordsworth. 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC    VERSES 


THE  "CUMBERLAND" 

At  anchor  in  Hampton  Roads  we  lay, 

On  board  of  the  Cumberland,  sloop-of-war  ; 
And  at  times  from  the  fortress  across  the  bay 

The  alarum  of  drums  swept  past, 

Or  a  bugle  blast 
From  the  camp  on  the  shore. 

Then  far  away  to  the  south  uprose 

A  little  feather  of  snow-white  smoke. 
And  we  knew  that  the  iron  ship  of  our  foes 
Was  steadily  steering  its  course 
To  try  the  force 
Of  our  ribs  of  oak. 

Down  upon  us  heavily  runs, 

Silent  and  sullen,  the  floating  fort ; 
Then  comes  a  puff  of  smoke  from  her  guns, 
And  leaps  the  terrible  death. 
With  fiery  breath. 
From  each  open  port. 

211 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

We  are  not  idle,  but  send  her  straight, 
Defiance  back  in  a  full  broad-side ! 

As  hail  rebounds  from  a  roof  of  slate, 
Rebounds  our  heavier  hail 
From  each  iron  scale 
Of  the  monster's  hide. 

"  Strike  your  flag  ! "  the  rebel  cries, 

In  his  arrogant  old  plantation  strain. 

"  Never  ! "  our  gallant  Morris  replies  ; 
"  It  is  better  to  sink  than  to  yield  ! " 
And  the  whole  air  pealed 
With  the  cheers  of  our  men. 

Then,  like  a  kracken  huge  and  black. 

She  crushed  our  ribs  in  her  iron  grasp  ! 
Down  went  the  Cumberland  all  a  wrack, 
With  a  sudden  shudder  of  death. 
And  the  cannon's  breath 
For  her  dying  gasp. 

Next  morn,  as  the  sun  rose  over  the  bay, 

Still  floated  our  flag  at  the  mainmast-head. 
Lord,  how  beautiful  was  thy  day  ! 
Every  waft  of  the  air 
Was  a  whisper  of  prayer. 
Or  a  dirge  for  the  dead. 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Ho  !  brave  hearts  that  went  down  in   the  seas ! 

Ye  are  at  peace  in  the  troubled  stream 
Ho  !  brave  land  !   with  hearts  like  these. 
Thy  flag,  that  is  rent  in  twain, 
Shall  be  one  again, 
And  without  a  seam  ! 

Longfellozv. 


213 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


THE  BRITISH  GRENADIERS 

Some  talk  of  Alexander,  and  some  of  Hercules, 
Of  Hector  and  Lysander,  and  such  great  names  as 

these. 
But   of   all   the  world's  great  heroes,  there's  none 

that  can  compare 
With  a  tow,  row,  row,  row,  row,  row  to  the  British 

Grenadiers  ! 

Those  heroes  of  antiquity  ne'er  saw  a  cannon-ball, 
Or   knew  the  force  of  powder  to    slay   their    foes 

withal. 
But   our   brave   boys   do   know   it,   and   banish   all 

their  fears 
Sing  tow,  row,  row,  row,  row,  row,  for  the   British 

Grenadiers  ! 

Whene'er  we  are  commanded  to  storm  the  palisades 
Our  leaders  march   with  fuses,  and  we  with  hand 
grenades, 

214 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


We  throw  them  from  the  glacis,  about  the  enemies' 

ears. 
Sing    tow,  row,    row,   row,    row,    row,    the    British 

Grenadiers  ! 

And  when  the  siege  is  over,  we  to  the  town  repair, 
The  townsmen  cry,  "  Hurrah,  boys,  here  comes  a 

Grenadier  ! 
Here  come  the  Grenadiers,  my  boys,  who  know  no 

doubts  or  fears  ! " 

Then  sing  tow,  row,  row,  row,  row,  row,  the  British 

Grenadiers  ! 
Then  let  us  fill   a   bumper,  and   drink   a   health  to 

those 
Who  carry  caps  and  pouches  and  wear  the  louped 

clothes. 
May  they  and  their  commanders  live  happy  all  their 

years. 
With  a  tow,  row,  row,  row,  row,  row,  for  the  British 

Grenadiers  ! 

Anonymous. 


215 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


THE  BLUE  BELL  OF  SCOTLAND 

Oh  where  and  oh  where,  is  your  Highland   laddie 

gone? 
He's  gone  to  fight  the  French  for  King  George  upon 

the  throne  ; 
And  it's  oh,  in  my  heart,  how  I  wish  him  safe  at 

home  ! 

Oh  where  and  oh  where,  does  your  Highland  laddie 

dwell  ? 
He  dwells  in   merry  Scotland,  at  the  sign  of  the 

Blue  Bell  ; 
And  it's  oh,  in  my  heart,  that  I  love  my  Highland 

laddie  well. 

In  what  clothes,  in  what  clothes  is  your   Highland 

laddie  clad  ? 
His  bonnet's  of  the  Saxon  green,  his  waistcoat's  of 

the  plaid  ; 
And  it's  oh,  in  my  heart,  that  I  love  my  Highland 

lad. 

216 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 

Suppose,  oh,  suppose,  that  your  Highland  lad  should 

die? 
The  bagpipes  shall  play  over  him,  and   I'll  lay  me 

down  and  cry ; 
And  it's  oh,  in  my  heart,  that  I  wish  he  may  not 

die. 

Anonymous. 


217 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


ENGLAND'S  DEAD 

Son  of  the  ocean  isle  ! 

Where  sleep  your  mighty  dead  ? 
Show  me  what  high  and  stately  pile 

Is  reared  o'er  Glory's  bed. 

Go,  stranger !  track  the  deep, 
Free,  free,  the  white  sail  spread  ! 

Wave  may  not  foam,  nor  wild  wind  sweep, 
Where  rest  not  England's  dead. 

On  Egypt's  burning  plains, 

By  the  pyramid  o'erswayed, 
With  fearful  power  the  noonday  reigns. 

And  the  palm-trees  yield  no  shade. 

But  let  the  angry  sun 

From  heaven  look  fiercely  red, 
L^nfelt  by  those  whose  task  is  done  ! — ■ 

There  slumber  England's  dead. 
218 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

The  hurricane  hath  might 

Along  the  Indian  shore, 
And  far  by  Ganges  banks  at  night 

Is  heard  the  tiger's  roar. 

But  let  the  sound  roll  on  ! 

It  hath  no  tone  of  dread 
For  those  that  from  their  toils  are  gone  ; — 

There  slumber  England's  dead. 


Loud  rush  the  torrent-floods 
The  western  wilds  among, 

And  free  in  green  Columbia's  woods 
The  hunter's  bow  is  strung. 


But  let  the  floods  rush  on  ! 

Let  the  arrow's  flight  be  sped  ! 
Why  should  they  reck  whose  task  is  done  ?- 

There  slumber  England's  dead. 


The  mountain-storms  rise  high 

In  the  snowy  Pyrenees, 
And  toss  the  pine-boughs  through  the  sky 

Like  rose-leaves  on  the  breeze 
219 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

But  let  the  storm  rage  on  ! 

Let  the  fresh  wreaths  be  shed  ! 
For  the  Roncesvalles'  field  is  won — 

There  slumber  England's  dead 

On  the  frozen  deep's  repose, 

'Tis  a  dark  and  dreadful  hour. 
When  round  the  ship  the  ice-fields  close 

And  the  northern  night-clouds  lower. 

But  let  the  ice  drift  on  ! 

Let  the  cold-blue  desert  spread  ! 
Their  course  with  mast  and  flag  is  done — 

Even  there  sleep  England's  dead. 

The  warlike  of  the  isles. 

The  men  of  field  and  wave  ! 
Are  not  the  rocks  their  funeral  piles, 

The  seas  and  shores  their  grave  ? 

Go,  stranger  !  track  thedeep. 
Free,  free,  the  white  sail  spread  ! 

Wave  may  not  foam,  nor  wild  wind  sweep, 
Where  rest  not  England's  dead. 

Felicia  D.  Hemans. 


220 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


THE  ARETHUSA 

Come,  all  ye  jolly  sailors  bold, 

Whose  hearts  are  cast  in  honour's  mould. 

While  English  glory  I  unfold, 

Huzza  to  the  Arethusa. 
She  is  a  frigate  tight  and  brave, 
As  ever  stemmed  the  dashing  wave ; 
Her  men  are  staunch 
To  their  fav'rite  launch. 
And  when  the  foe  shall  meet  our  fire, 
Sooner  than  strike  we'll  all  expire. 

On  board  of  the  Arethusa. 


'Twas  with  the  spring  fleet  she  went  out. 
The  English  Channel  to  cruise  about, 
When  four  French  sail,  in  show  so  stout, 

Bore  down  on  the  Arethusa. 
The  famed  Belle  Poule  straight  ahead  did  lie, 
The  Arethusa  seemed  to  fly, 

221 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 

Not  a  sheet,  or  a  tack, 

Or  a  brace,  did  she  slack, 
Though    the    Frenchman    laughed    and    thought   it 

stuff. 
But  they  knew  not  the  handful  of  men,  how  tough, 

On  board  of  the  Arethusa. 


On  deck  five  hundred  men  did  dance, 
The  stoutest  they  could  find  in  France, 
We,  with  two  hundred  did  advance, 

On  board  of  the  Arethusa. 
Our  Captain  hailed  the  Frenchman,  "  Ho  ! " 
The  Frenchman  then  cried  out  "  Hallo  ! " 
"  Bear  down,  d'ye  see. 
To  our  Admiral's  lee ! " 

"  No,  no,"  says  the  Frenchman,  "  that  can't  be ! ' 
"  Then  I  must  lug  you  along  with  me  ! " 

Says  the  saucy  Arethusa. 


The  fight  was  off  the  Frenchman's  land, 
We  forced  them  back  upon  their  strand. 
For  we  fought  till  not  a  stick  would  stand. 

Of  the  gallant  Arethusa. 
And  now  we've  driven  the  foe  ashore, 
Never  to  fight  with  Britons  more, 
222 


BATTLE    POEMS    AND    PATRIOTIC   VERSES 


Let  each  fill  a  glass, 
To  his  favVite  lass  ! 

A  health  to  our  Captain  and  officers  true, 
And  all  that  belong  to  the  jovial  crew, 
On  board  of  the  Arethusa. 

Prince  Hoare. 


223 


BATTLE  POEMS  AND  PATRIOTIC  VERSES 


GOD  SAVE  THE  KING 

God  save  our  gracious  King, 
Long  live  our  noble  King, 

God  save  the  King. 
Send  him  victorious, 
Happy  and  glorious, 
Long  to  reign  over  us, 

God  save  the  King. 

O  Lord  our  God  arise ; 
Scatter  his  enemies, 

And  make  them  fall. 
Confound  their  politics. 
Frustrate  their  knavish  tricks  ; 
On  Thee  our  hopes  we  fix, 

God  save  us  all. 

Thy  choicest  gifts  in  store. 
On  him  be  pleased  to  pour, 

Long  may  he  reign. 
May  he  defend  our  laws, 
And  ever  give  us  cause. 
To  sing,  with  heart  and  voice, 

God  save  the  King. 

Henry  Carey. 

CNWIN  BROTHERS,   UMIT£D,   PRINTERS,  WOKING  AND  LONDON 

UMlVfCKblTY  OF  CALIFORNIA.  ( 


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